For Good
by trinforthewin
Summary: Blaine Anderson is a college senior working at his brother's restaurant in New York. Kurt Hummel is fresh out of college and interning in the fashion industry. When they stumble upon each other's paths, their lives are changed for good.
1. Chapter 1

"_Kurt_!"

Kurt winced and held his phone away from his ear as Rachel's voice came shrilly through the receiver. "Rachel. Inside voice," he reminded her as he leaned back in his swivel chair and set his pencil down on his desk. A conversation with Rachel meant that his Art Design homework would have to wait until later.

"I'm not even inside!" The deafening cacophony of New York traffic underlined her words.

"I don't care. Inside voice."

"Fine."

Kurt could hear the pout in her voice, and he smiled. As loud and incorrigible as Rachel (frequently) was, she was still his best friend, and he couldn't help but love her.

"Listen, Kurt," Rachel continued, excitement bubbling over in her words. "Today I met this guy, and—"

Kurt groaned. "Oh god, save me. Those are the most terrifying words to ever leave your lips."

"It's not a guy for _me_," she huffed, sounding mildly irritated. "I told you, I have moved on since high school and I am not letting Finn or any other guy distract me from my dream of one day becoming a Broadway star."

"Yes, yes, so I've heard," Kurt said dryly. Rachel had recited this little speech to him multiple times since they had moved to New York. This hadn't stopped she and Finn from "trying the long distance thing" and subsequently breaking up seven times in the five years since they had moved out of Lima. "Okay then, if the guy's not for you, who's he for?"

"You, of course!"

"Oh no," Kurt said quickly. "No-no-no. _No_. Never again. Remember last time?"

"Kuuurt, come on! How was I supposed to know he was married when he seemed genuinely interested in going out to dinner with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kurt said, his words laced with sarcasm. "Maybe the ring on his finger. Me, I figured it out when he showed up to what was supposed to be a romantic, candle-lit dinner-for-two with his Hulk of a husband!"

"Okay. _Okay_. I'm sorry," she said, not sounding very apologetic at all. "But this guy is smart, single, and really, _really _cute." Rachel sounded so enthused that Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if she were jumping up and down in the streets.

"That sounds too good to be true. Are you sure he's gay?" Kurt was suspicious. Surprisingly enough, the list of gay, eligible bachelors in New York had not been as extensive as he had thought it would be.

"He sounded interested in meeting you."

"That doesn't mean anything, Rachel."

"I met him at an audition for West Side Story."

Kurt laughed. "Okay, that settles it. I'll do it."

"Wait, really?" Rachel's disbelieving tone undeniably translated to, "I didn't think it would be that easy."

"As weird as it sounds, I trust your judgment. Sort of." He paused. "Well, mostly I'm just agreeing because you won't stop bugging me if I don't and this guy actually sounds relatively normal when compared to the others you've tried setting me up with."

Rachel squealed loudly, and Kurt had to hold his cell away from his ear again until she was finished. "Yes! You're not going to regret this, Kurt!"

_I hope not_, he thought. Rachel was known for her disastrous attempts to improve his love life. Still, it had been months since the last time, and he had to admit he got lonely, what with Rachel out every night taking classes and auditioning, and him stuck in their shared two-room apartment doing work for his internship. "So, what's this guy like?"

"_Adorable_. You'll love him. Dark hair, _gorgeous _hazel eyes. He's a bit shy, but once you get to know him, he's great," she gushed.

Kurt nodded, forgetting that Rachel couldn't see him. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but the guy _did _sound, well, perfect. "So, what now?"

"Oh, leave everything to me," Rachel said briskly, transitioning into organizer-mode. "You're just going out to dinner, to get to know each other. I made reservations at _Cooper's_ for 7:00 p.m. tomorrow night, so you'll just meet him there and—"

"_Rachel_," Kurt interrupted, exasperated. "You made reservations already? Before you even knew if I'd say _yes_?"

"Kurt." Rachel sighed. "Do you really have to ask that?" She paused to let him consider this, then pushed on. "Okay, so you meet him at _Cooper's_ at seven, and . . . have fun! Listen, I have to go. My tap class starts in ten minutes, and I need at _least _seven minutes and forty-five seconds to properly loosen my muscles. See you tonight?"

Kurt snorted. "Yeah, if you can find me under the mountain of fabrics and measurements I'm buried in."

Rachel clucked in sympathy. "Well, get as much of it done as you can so you don't have to worry about it tomorrow on your date!"

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled. "Have fun with tap." Rachel made a distracted sound of agreement. "Oh, wait— are you still there?" Kurt asked hurriedly, a thought occurring to him.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"This guy . . . what's his name?"

"Oh, right. It's Blaine."

"Blaine?" Kurt tested it out in his head. Blaine. Kurt and Blaine. Blaine and Kurt. It wasn't a name he heard every day. He liked that.

"Yeah. Blaine And—"

* * *

><p>"—erson!"<p>

Blaine jumped, his fingers stumbling discordantly over several piano keys. He craned his head around to see Santana Lopez, one of his coworkers. She rolled her eyes at his confusion.

"Come on, Anderson. You only get paid for playing the piano in your dreams. This place is packed tonight; we need your help out here."

"Oh. Sorry." Blaine sighed and pushed himself away from the gorgeous Baby Grand in the corner of the restaurant. "I guess I got kind of..." he waved his hand around in the air. "...carried away."

"Mm." Santana tossed him an apron. "Well, how 'bout you _carry away _some of the dirty dishes on my tables so I can get out of here at a reasonable hour tonight? Auntie Tana's got better things to do than stick around here all night."

Blaine raised an eyebrow as he pulled on an apron over his button-up dress shirt and tied it around his waist. "Like what?"

Santana smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Don't worry, Short Stack. You'll always be my one true hobbit." She walked past him, hips swaying as she moved to take a table's order.

Blaine smiled after her fondly. Santana could be difficult, but she was basically his only friend in New York. She was the first person he had told about being gay since he had moved here three years before. he remembered her blinking in surprise when he told her, then smacking his butt and saying, "Damn. Well, that's one fine piece of ass I won't be tapping." They had been fast friends ever since.

Blaine surveyed the restaurant. It was only five, but three quarters of the tables were already occupied. Santana was right— Cooper's was booming. Its great prices, food, and live entertainment made it popular with locals and tourists alike. Blaine was lucky to be working there.

He cleared the tables nearest him of dishes, then walked into the kitchen to drop them off. Cooper himself was in the back, shouting at a terrified busboy.

"— because the next time you drop a stack of plates, I'll be taking the cost out of _your _paycheck. Got it?" The boy— Eric, Blaine thought his name was— nodded once and scurried back into the kitchen. Cooper sighed and ran a hand through his wavy locks, then spotted Blaine. His eyes lit up.

"Hey! Nice of you to join us."

Blaine smiled ruefully. "Maybe I shouldn't. I see you're back to yelling at the poor busboys. I thought we talked about being nice to people and, you know, _not _making them frightened by your presence?"

Cooper scowled. "What is this restaurant called?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "_Cooper's_."

Cooper nodded triumphantly. "Exactly. I'm in charge."

"Your megalomania continues to astound me."

"Oh, come on. I have to keep the dream alive. And in order to do that, I need to know my employees fear my every move. SPONTANEITY," he shouted as the same busboy reentered the kitchen, making him jump and almost lose his grip on another stack of plates. Cooper snickered, then turned back to Blaine. "See, Blainers? He's learning."

Blaine groaned. "Please don't call me that." He dropped the dishes he was holding into a sink full of foamy water, then turned to face his brother. "It's unprofessional."

"What should I call you, then?" Cooper asked, a wicked smile flickering over his features. "Bumble B? Clark Kent? Tink?" You're small and feisty like her...," he mused, tapping his finger against his chin thoughtfully.

Santana breezed into the kitchen then and tagged an order for the cooks. "Clark Kent? I like it. Mind if I use that?"

Cooper smiled at her. "I'd feel insulted if you didn't."

"On second thought, Blainers is fine. Perfect, actually. I love it. You can call me that," Blaine said hastily.

"Oh no," Cooper said, his smile growing wider. "Tink it is, buddy."

Blaine glared at him. Maybe ignoring him would be his best strategy. It never worked when they were kids, but Cooper had better things to do than torture his little brother when he had an entire restaurant to run. Blaine turned back to the sink and pushed the sleeves of his shirt up as he prepared to wash the dishes. Cooper and Santana were still giggling behind him, but maybe the noise of the clinking dishes would drown them out.

"Woah, hold up, Tink," Cooper said as Blaine picked up the first plate. "What are you all dressed up for?"

Blaine blushed but didn't turn around. "I, um, have a, uh, date. Tonight."

Cooper grabbed the plate from Blaine's hand, and Santana grabbed his shoulder and turned him so he was facing them. The two shared a glance, their expressions creepily similar, as if Christmas had come early.

"Awww," Cooper cooed. "Blushing Blainers um-has an uh-date!" He clapped his hands in excitement.

"Nice going, Anderson! So you're _not _a total prude!" Santana raised her hand for a high-five that Blaine studiously ignored. He turned back to the dishes, but Cooper spun him around again.

"Not so fast, bro. Where'd you meet this guy?"

"Is he sexy?" Santana chimed in. "Oh, yeah, he is. Look at his face, Coop."

"Is he nice?" Cooper demanded.

"How's his ass? 'Cause, speaking objectively here, if you meet a guy with a better one than yours, you should totally snatch that up before someone else does." She paused, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'o.' "Oh my _god_, are you a bottom, Anderson?"

"Santana! You're talking to my _brother_!"

"Well, _yeah. _Who else am I supposed to ask? I figured you wouldn't know much about Blaine's wild sex life, so—"

"Enough!" Blaine shouted, exasperated. "Can you two _not _announce this to the world? It's nothing serious. I haven't even met him yet, this is just an introductory dinner, okay?"

"You haven't met him yet?" Cooper glanced at Santana, as if checking to make sure she was as baffled as he was.

"Oh, honey, please tell me you haven't resorted to internet dating." Santana said, pity coloring her voice. She patted him on the arm. "Listen, just because you haven't met anyone yet, doesn't mean you never will. I'll take you gay clubbing. It'll be fun."

Blaine sighed, resigned to owning up. "No, I— I met this girl at an audition, and we started talking, and she was telling me about this friend of hers, and... I don't know. She just kept talking and she asked me if I wanted to go out with him, and I just... I said yes. Okay?" He hoped that if he spoke quickly enough, they would stop asking him questions.

"Wait..." Cooper narrowed his eyes, and Blaine's hope plummeted. "You met her at an audition? Are you— did you tell Dad?"

Santana's eyes widened. "Family talk. Okay, I'm out." She hurried out of the kitchen with a plate of food from the counter, sending one last look back at Blaine and Cooper.

Blaine looked down at his shoes. "No."

Cooper sighed and closed his eyes. Blaine wondered what he was thinking. He opened them a moment later. "Blaine, you know he's not going to be happy if he finds out you're going to auditions again."

"I'm not going to auditions. I'm just— it was just one, okay? I'm not going to get a callback anyway, so it doesn't matter, okay? It's nothing."

"Blaine—"

"Just drop it, Coop," Blaine said shortly, cutting him off. He didn't want or need to see the pity in his brother's eyes, didn't want to see the same realization that he couldn't live his dreams because they didn't match up with his father's. "I'm not going to drop out of college or anything, okay? I'm almost done, anyway. I'll get my stupid Business degree, and go to work with Dad, and we'll all forget I ever wanted anything else. That's how it works in our family, right? We forget about it and it goes away."

Cooper studied him, worry in his eyes. "Blaine, I..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Blaine. But you know how he gets. It's better for everyone if you just..." he stopped again, hesitating.

Blaine nodded. "It's fine."

They looked at each other for a moment longer, eyes saying much more than words could. Cooper's said, _I know it's not fine, and I'm sorry_, and Blaine's said, _I know_.

Cooper finally broke the tension. "Listen, I don't want you to get your shirt all messed up if you have a date. Why don't you go help Santana take orders out there?"

Blaine smiled, grateful. Cooper always knew when Blaine shouldn't be left alone with his thoughts. "Yeah, I'll do that." Cooper nodded and turned away, presumably to start yelling at more people. "Thanks, Coop."

Blaine grabbed an order pad and walked into the dining area. After consulting with Santana to figure out which tables he should take, he walked over to an elderly couple who looked about finished with their meal.

"Hi, there," he said, plastering on his best smile. "Is there anything else I can get for you two?"

The woman smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "You're the young man who was playing the piano earlier, right?" He nodded. "Well, you have a lovely voice. Do you sing professionally?"

Blaine's smiled dropped just a fraction. "Not anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to split it in two so I could have it out a bit earlier. Expect the next chapter by next Tuesday at the latest. :)

Much thanks to my beta, Shan, for all of her help. 3

* * *

><p>Kurt spent the day before his date with <em>Blaine Anderson<em> holed up in his room, comparing almost imperceptibly different shades of blue fabric for a presentation board he had to present on Monday. He had the whole weekend to work on it, but he knew he'd be able to enjoy himself much more if this were out of the way. He held two patches of gauzy fabric up to his eyes, looking from one to the other as he tried to determine what exactly made one _baby orphan blue_ and the other _cotton candy blue_. He glanced back and forth for a moment longer, a headache pounding just behind his eyes, before giving up. He threw both fabrics on top of his desk, where they joined the alarming clutter of magazine spreads and cardboard figures that seemed to swim before his eyes. He needed a break.

He pushed away from his desk and used his feet to propel his swivel chair over to his bed, where his iPod lay abandoned where he had fallen asleep with it the night before. He put his earphones in and pressed shuffle; he didn't particularly care what he listened to, as long as the music took him far away from deadlines and fabric.

Kurt loved fashion. He really did. It was just that, when he was a kid, he had always envisioned himself _performing_ in New York. That was what had kept him going in high school— the thrill of performing, and the blissful anticipation of following his dreams in the big city. Unfortunately, his dreams had had a bit of a struggle with reality. It had stung when Rachel had gotten into NYADA and he hadn't, but he always had his backup plan. Fashion. College had gone quickly and easily for him. Life in New York had turned into a workable routine. School, work, and coming home to Rachel, who was always brimming with stories of NYADA and the people she had met there. It hadn't taken long for his bitter smile at her excitement to turn sincere.

The truth was, when he had pictured himself in New York all those years ago, he'd always thought he would have someone to storm the city with; he'd always imagined a handsome guy on his arm, supporting his every endeavor. Rachel wasn't even there for him that often, since she was always off auditioning for one thing or the next. She had invited him to come along and audition as well, but ever since high school he'd been terrified of rejection. He hadn't really sung since Glee Club. He wasn't sure if he could even remember _how_ to. Maybe it was the sort of thing you lost as you got older, like innocence or blatant honesty.

Kurt pressed a button on his iPod, checking the time. _5:54 p.m_. It was almost time for his date. He found it ironic that Rachel was the one setting him up now, when she had come to him for advice about guys all those years ago in high school. What was he thinking? He didn't know a thing about relationships. He had been an outsider his entire life. He had friends in Glee Club, of course— Rachel, Finn, Tina, Mercedes— but none of them ever totally _understood_ him. He's been alone for years. He'd never met that special someone, that missing piece that would soften his edges and fit around him perfectly. He hadn't even been _kissed_ since the disaster with Karofsky. Alone in high school, and virtually alone in New York. He didn't have friends in the fashion world; it was far too cutthroat for that. Relationships, even friendly ones, didn't last long. He'd tried going to a few gay bars but had abandoned those attempts after a few nights, realizing that he had no interest in dating guys who went to gay bars to pick up guys. He really hoped Blaine wasn't one of those creeps who was only looking for a one-night stand. He needed more than that in his life. He needed someone to hold him together before he fell apart.

"Snap out of it," he said out loud, his voice rusty with disuse. _God_. This was why he shouldn't be alone. He always did this when he was left to his thoughts. He beat himself up and made things seem ten times more desolate and dramatic than they actually were. He needed to get out of his room before he went crazy.

He stood from his chair, stretching from feet to fingers. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall and groaned. He looked like a troll doll. His hair was standing on end after hours of running his fingers through it in frustration. That could be tamed. The bags under his eyes from the late night he'd had would hopefully yield to concealer. He would have to ask Rachel if he could borrow some of hers. He was surprised she hadn't come into his room to bother him yet. She had texted him after her tap lessons the day before and told him not to wait up for her. Apparently she'd had a late night, too, but Kurt could only wonder whether _her_ night had included a plus one.

Stifling a yawn, Kurt exited his room and padded down the hallway and into the living room. "Rachel?" He shivered and glanced at the thermostat. Rachel usually woke up first and turned it on so their apartment was warm when he got out of bed. But by this evening, after an entire day without the thermostat being on, the February air had seeped under the cracks in the walls and had turned their home into an icebox. He moved to crank the temperature up, then walked down the hallway to her room. He pressed his ear to the cold wood, listening. He didn't _hear_ anything.

Still, he wondered if she had finally found someone besides Finn, despite her assurances yesterday (and thousands of times before) that she wasn't going to let guys distract her. It _would_ be like Rachel to declare that one day and go crazy over a guy the very next. He wasn't sure if she would go _home_ with a guy . . . but then again, both he and Rachel had been so busy lately that they hadn't really been talking much. For all he knew, she could have been seeing someone for awhile. Or maybe this was some sort of secret fling. It wasn't _entirely_ unlikely. He just hoped she wasn't sleeping with a director or something crazy like that.

Rachel lived in the chaos of unintentional spontaneity. In some ways, she was made for New York. Kurt had always been jealous of her ability to adapt. She hadn't spent a day in New York before she was out auditioning and schmoozing it up with directors at inclusive parties that God only knew how she found her way into. He, on the other hand, had spent the first two weeks of their New York life calling his father every four hours and watching re-runs of _The Bachelorette_ while missing home terribly.

Kurt knocked on Rachel's door but heard no sounds of rustling within. He knocked again. Still nothing. "Rachel?" he called, his voice a hesitant whisper. Nothing but continued silence greeted him. He opened her door, shielding his eyes just in case, but no one called out. He curiously lowered his hand and glanced around the room. No Rachel. The only sign that she had been home the night before was the pink duffel bag she always carried from audition to audition. She must have slipped in during the late hours of the night and left again sometime earlier. He had been so engrossed in his work, he wouldn't have noticed. But it was unlike her to leave without saying anything to him, especially considering he had a date for the first time in awhile. Normally she'd be driving him nuts with her comments and enthusiasm. He made a mental note to investigate what was going on with her when he was less stressed out. For now, he had a date to prepare for.

Nearly an hour later, Kurt had moisturized his face, found some of Rachel's concealer under the sink, calmed and styled his hair, and dressed in what he hoped was appropriate for a first date. He wore his favorite pair of jeans and a red peacoat, thinking that he would wait for any subsequent dates before he pulled out the really unique stuff he had in his closet.

Frosty wind bit at his fingertips as he stepped outside of their apartment to brave the evening. His fingers fumbled with the key as he locked the door, and he absentmindedly wished he had decided to wear gloves.

Turning around, Kurt realized that Rachel had taken their shared VW Bug with her, wherever she was. A stir of annoyance seeped through him. They usually made a habit of telling each other when they'd need the car, but Kurt had assumed Rachel would leave it for him for his date. _Cooper's_ was a good ten minutes away without a car. There was no way he was walking in this weather. He'd have to call for a cab.

Luckily, they lived on a fairly busy street. A cab came by in less than a minute, and by 6:47, he was walking into _Cooper's_ front door, rubbing his hands against his arms to warm up.

"Good evening!" The chirpy voice of _Cooper's_ front desk woman greeted him. "Just one tonight?"

"Ah, no, I'm meeting someone," Kurt told her. "I'm just going to wait over in the bar area."

The woman nodded, already turning her attention to a couple who had walked in behind Kurt. He strolled past the desk and toward the bar, glancing around surreptitiously as he went. It wasn't until he had seated himself on a bar stool, sipping at a glass of lukewarm water, that it hit him.

He had no idea what Blaine Anderson looked like.

_Of course. Leave it to Rachel to ruin my chances. Again._ All he had to go on was "gorgeous eyes," and it's not like that was even a factual description. Beautiful to Rachel wasn't necessarily beautiful to him. Maybe he could have someone go onto the small stage that _Cooper's_ used during live performances and do a PA for this Blaine guy.

_ Yeah, but then I'll sound like a mother who's lost her kid at the mall_, he realized. Kurt glanced at the watch on his wrist. _6:52_. He was still early. Maybe the best thing to do would be to wait a bit longer, then call Rachel and get some more information. Who knew, maybe Rachel had been a bit more thorough describing him to Blaine, and Blaine would find Kurt first.

He took another sip of his water, his mind wandering. He wondered what_ Blaine Anderson_ looked like. The name conjured up images of polo shirts and skinny jeans. He was probably a tall guy, with light brown hair. Maybe freckles. Rachel knew his type, so he wouldn't be totally out there. His eyes might be blue, or green. Something different. Lean, but with a build that says he definitely worked out. Blaine Anderson. He sounded like a beaded-bracelet-on-the-wrist type of guy.

"Hey— Kurt? Kurt!"

Kurt's head snapped up from his drink. He knew that voice. Santana Lopez came waltzing over and stopped in front of him, resting a tray against her hip. "Santana?" he asked, needing the verbal assurance that he was right.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite gay! Well . . . second favorite." She laughed, then gave him a once-over. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a date. What are _you_ doing here?" She looked exactly the same as he remembered her from high school. Curvy, self-assured, and with a deadly beauty that he was sure had destroyed more than a few men _an_d women. "Is Brittany . . .?"

"Oh," she said, looking uncomfortable. "Um, no. She— we broke up." Santana looked away, vulnerability coloring her face. "She's still in Ohio." She brightened up. "But she's finishing up college! She's doing Dance at Ohio University." Santana allowed herself a small smile, looking proud.

"That's really great!" Kurt grinned. He was surprised how much he missed Brittany; she was always good for a laugh, and they had grown a lot closer during the student council presidential elections during their senior year. It was a shame that she and Santana had broken up, though. He had always thought that they helped each other. "What have you been doing these days? Besides, um, this," he added awkwardly, waving his arm around to indicate the restaurant.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Okay, no, _Cooper's_ isn't exactly my dream job, but it pays the rent." She shrugged. "I've done a couple commercials. Modeling, mostly."

"Anything I've seen?" Kurt asked, intrigued. A lot of people in fashion design had turned onto its path only after realizing that modeling was a career choice wrought with failure. He didn't know anyone who had ever actually made it.

"Probably not. Low-scale stuff, mostly." She craned her head, looking down the row of bar stools. "So, you have a date? Where is he? Is he your boyfriend?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's a first date." He glanced at his watch. _7:01_. "And he's officially late," he muttered.

"You should let me set you up." Santana smiled her Cheshire grin. "I know a guy who could use a date _real_ bad."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I like my men punctual, not criminal. Anyway, Rachel's got the monopoly on setting me up."

"Berry? No way, is she living here, too?" She paused. "You know, it's funny— and I'll _kill_ you if this gets to her— but I kind of miss that loud-mouth."

"You should come over sometime! We'll have a McKinley Reunion or something. I could always use a model for my designs."

"Oh, I will definitely take you up on that offer, Hummel." She glanced behind her at the steadily filling restaurant, then turned back to him. "I should go before I get yelled at. But here, let me give you my number."

Kurt dutifully pulled his phone out and added Santana's information before she was pulled back into the line of duty. He sat back in his seat with a smile, caught up in nostalgia. He wondered how the others from New Directions were doing. He felt guilty for losing contact with them so easily, but college and the bedlam of moving from the dorms to an apartment had kept him busy and also made it harder to keep track of information. He hadn't even known that Santana was living in New York. He'd have to ask her what she knew about everyone else the next time they talked.

A tap on the shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He turned his head to see a cute guy standing in front of him. He looked to be around Kurt's age, with floppy brown hair and big brown eyes that made Kurt instantly trust him. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Kurt in anticipation and the other guy looking nervous.

"Kurt?" The guy smiled at him, and Kurt felt something in his chest flutter.

"Yeah, I'm Kurt," he said a bit breathlessly. "Are you Blaine?" The guy nodded after a brief pause. Kurt smiled, internally screaming Rachel's praise. She was right; he was _adorable_. Kurt didn't see what was so special about his eyes, but considering the guys Rachel had set him up with in the past, he was counting his blessings. Kurt patted the stool next to him and glanced at Blaine's hands while he moved to sit down. _Thank god he's not wearing a ring._

"So, you're Blaine," Kurt said, still reeling at his luck. Rachel was the_ best._

"You can call me whatever you'd like." Blaine smiled, his eyes roaming over Kurt's body in a way that was simultaneously invasive and flattering.

"This is kind of awkward, huh?" Kurt asked, feeling a bit nervous. He hadn't done this in... ever. He'd never really gone on a date before, let alone a blind date. He suddenly felt completely unsure of himself. What if he looked terrible? What if he was socially inept and Blaine left him at the end of the night thinking he was insane?

"Just relax," Blaine told him. "By the end of the night, I'm sure we'll be _totally_ comfortable with each other." He laughed, but Kurt didn't join in. Maybe he had praised Rachel too quickly. Blaine seemed a bit too.._.forward_, for Kurt's taste.

"So, should we maybe— do you want to get a table and eat?" Kurt gestured toward the dining area.

"Oh yes," Blaine said, his smile growing wider. "I'm _starving_."

Kurt forced a smile. "Lead the way, then."

Blaine balanced a pile of dirty dishes in one hand and shoved the kitchen door open with his shoulder. He squeezed between two busboys, making his way toward the sink, but—

"Blaine, what are you _doing_?" Cooper grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, and glanced at the large clock on the wall. "It's almost seven. Don't you have a date to be... dating?"

Blaine nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. _I can't do this_. His heart was pounding painfully. _I can't do this_. His palms were getting sweaty. _I can't do this._

"Blaine?"

"I can't do this!" he blurted out loudly, frantically. "I can't do this, Coop!"

Cooper eyed him, nodding slowly, then seemed to come to a decision. He pried the plates from Blaine's grip and set them down on a counter, then grabbed Blaine's arm and dragged him into a storage room in the back.

"If you're planning on holding me hostage, I'd do it somewhere where there's less food," Blaine said, attempting to crack a joke. Cooper, understandably, ignored him.

"What's wrong, Blaine?" Blaine didn't say anything, not knowing where to start. Cooper leaned back against a shelf, fixing him with his most determined stare. "Look, I've got all night. But _you_ have a date that you _will_ be going on, so I suggest you start talking right about, oh—" he looked at an invisible watch on his wrist, then back to Blaine— "_now_."

Blaine opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking. "I just— I can't do this, I don't know _how_ to do this." He swallowed. "I haven't done this since..." He broke off. He couldn't face that. Not again. Not ever again.

Cooper broke the silence. "You aren't fifteen anymore, Blaine."

"I'm just as scared as if I were," Blaine retorted. He closed his eyes, and images flooded into his head. "Why should I put myself back in that situation again, Coop? The last time I went out with a guy, I—"

_The school parking lot, Blaine and Zac surrounded by angry guys, Zac's hand being torn away from Blaine's, thinking runIhavetorunIhavetorun, and the last thing he sees before he's facedown on the concrete is Zac running away_

"_Blaine_." Blaine opened his eyes, blinking his way out of the memories, to see Cooper staring at him, chocolate eyes filled with concern. "You're _twenty-two_. You can take care of yourself now. And besides, I'm here this time. Nothing's going to happen. You know that, right?" He held Blaine's gaze until Blaine nodded. "Nothing like that is ever gonna happen again. Especially tonight. This isn't Ohio. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Blaine laughed, the sound hollow in his ears. "I'm not afraid of being hurt... physically. I'm afraid of being left again."

Cooper sighed. "Blaine, you know you can't control that. You don't get to choose whether you get left behind or not. I'm sorry, but you can't. And that's no reason to stop living. People still care about you. Not everyone leaves. I'm still here, right? And that's a real accomplishment, 'cause you can be quite the overbearing little bastard sometimes." Cooper winked at him, and Blaine couldn't help but give a faint smile. "Look, I can't guarantee things are going to be fine. But _you_ will be, in the end." He let that sink into Blaine's head for a moment before clapping him on the shoulder. "So, go have a good time. Please."

Blaine nodded. "I will. I guess I was just..."

"I know."

"Thanks, Coop." He tried to let his voice fill in all the unsaid gratitude that had built up over the years.

Cooper smiled, and somehow, Blaine thought he knew. "That's what I'm here for. Have a good date, Blainers." Cooper left then, and Blaine thought he heard him mutter something about premature grey hairs as he went.

Blaine took a minute to collect himself before he followed Cooper out of the storage room and into the kitchen. He glanced at the large clock in the wall. It was already 7:09. He hoped Kurt hadn't been waiting for too long. Straightening his tie, he pushed open the kitchen doors and entered the dining area, looking around with his head held high.

He was ready. He could do this. He had confidence. He had poise. He had...

...no idea what Kurt Hummel actually looked like.

_ Well, shit._


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine found himself looking around the room, his mind blank. How was he supposed to find Kurt? All that the Rachel girl had told him about Kurt's appearance was that he had a "great head of hair." He couldn't very well go up to every single man in the place, assume they were gay, and ask, _"Excuse me, do you know a short brunette who talks a mile an hour and thinks your hair is superb?"_

He shifted from foot to foot, weighing his options as the kitchen door opened and closed behind him. This was insane. _Insane. _This was so unlike him. He never did things like this. He wasn't usually so spontaneous... the whole night was just crazy. A girl he had just met, at an audition he shouldn't have even gone to, set him up with a supposedly handsome gay guy that she conveniently knew, leaving Blaine with no real description to _find _aforementioned guy. Why was he even doing this?

_Because you need to, _he told himself. _You need this._ He would sit down, he decided. He could do that, just sit and wait and see if anyone came up to him. That would be okay.

He resisted the urge to go sit down at the piano bench— he would just get distracted and lost in the music— and instead sat down on one of the bar stools in the corner where he could see _Cooper's _front door. He checked his watch and relaxed a bit when he saw that it was only 7:12. It wasn't too late; Kurt might be running a bit late. Who knew how far away he lived? After all, Blaine knew nothing about him besides the fact that he worked in fashion, loved music, and apparently had hair that was _to die for_. Just in case, Blaine ran his eyes over the people sitting along the bar; the only guy he saw was about fifty and had a mullet, and somehow he didn't think that Kurt Hummel, self-acclaimed fashion genius, would be caught dead in a mullet.

Blaine settled back on the stool, leaning his arms against the counter behind him in a manner that he hoped looked nonchalant and sexy. Or at least _didn't _look like a way to hide his nerves, which it was. He hated waiting, but waiting is what he would have to do.

Ten minutes passed. Blaine told himself that twenty-two minutes wasn't _that _late. Maybe Kurt Hummel was having car problems.

And twenty-five minutes late wasn't that bad. Kurt had probably just fixed his car and was on his way to the restaurant now. He'd probably burst in and meet Blaine's gaze from across the restaurant, and they'd have one of those cinematic moments where they would run into each other's arms and realize they were absolutely perfect for each other.

And, really, a half hour late wasn't terrible. It was late, but not horrible. Maybe Kurt's car was still broken down, and he needed to find a cab, but there were none going by. The weather was kind of windy tonight. Maybe that's why he wasn't here yet.

By 7:40, Blaine began to think that he'd missed Kurt. He peered around the restaurant again, but all he could see were happily dining couples. He thought he could even see a gay couple sitting near the door, the guy facing him telling an animated story to his date. Blaine tried not to feel bitter at the sight.

At 7:45, Blaine gave up. Kurt Hummel wasn't coming. Either he forgot, or was too busy, or Blaine had been pranked by a girl who dressed like she was still in middle school. Whatever the reason, he had been stood up. For some reason, all he could feel was a numb sense of relief. It was almost better this way, better to be hurt before he met Kurt than broken afterwards. Yes, things were better this way.

Santana breezed past him then, her hair coming undone from the ponytail she wore it in at the beginning of her shifts. She looked frazzled, and Blaine felt guilt wash over him; usually he was around to help out on the tables, but tonight he had wasted forty-five minutes waiting for a specter. He waited until she had taken another table's order, then grabbed the back pocket of her apron as she flew past him. She stopped and turned to face him, her brow creased in puzzlement.

"What's up, Anderson? What happened with the date?" She peered around him, as if Blaine was hiding a guy behind the bar counter or something.

"He didn't show up," Blaine said shortly. "I don't want to talk about it. Do you need some help out here?"

Santana looked stricken. "Oh, sweetie..."

Blaine sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, causing a few locks to spring free of their carefully applied confinement of gel. "Look, it's fine. I'm fine. I just need to be doing something right now, okay? Where can I help out?"

Santana looked as though she wanted to protest, but she just pursed her lips and directed him to one side of the room while she left to serve the other. He was grateful that she had dropped it. The last thing he wanted to do was go over his rejection. All he wanted to do was go back to the apartment he shared with Cooper and sleep for a couple of days, but he knew he had to try to keep himself present or he'd start wallowing in self-pity.

Blaine showed a few entering customers to their seats, delivered their drinks, then took their orders to the cooks in the back. The place was still busy, but the steady trickle of incoming diners had slowed down. Santana and Kelly, the other waitress working tonight, were still rushing around with harried expressions. As Santana hurried past him yet again, he called, "Hey, is there anything—"

"Can you just check up on that table over there? I think they're ready to leave," she shouted over her shoulder, jerking her thumb to indicate which table she meant. Blaine glanced in the direction she had pointed and groaned. The gay couple from before. Of course. Just to rub salt in his wound.

Blaine looked around in desperation, but no tables needed his immediate attention. He might as well get it over with. With a sigh, he approached the table.

"Are you finished?" he asked its occupants dully, not even bothering to wear a smile or look up from his order pad. He heard one of the men trail off and belatedly realized that he had interrupted their conversation. He was too upset about his night to feel guilty about it, though, and decided that self-indulgent night of lost decorum was deserved in his case.

"You work here?"

Blaine raised his head in time to see that the guy he had interrupted was a) cute in a puppy-dog manner, and b) probably cuter without the sneer of contempt he was currently modeling. Blaine realized he wasn't wearing his apron or nametag, which was probably the source of the confusion. He didn't care to explain his situation to these two strangers who obviously didn't have a problem finding and maintaining dates, though.

"Yes. Yes, I do," he answered mechanically. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Puppy Boy turned to address his partner, the guy in a red pea coat whose back Blaine had seen earlier. "Do you want dessert now, or should you and I save that for later?" He winked at the other guy, and Blaine resisted the urge to gag.

"Do I know you?"

An awkward silence arose in the time it took for Blaine to realize that the classically high voice coming from Pea Coat was directed at him. He blinked and focused on the guy's face instead of his clothes. "Me?"

"Yes..." He was looking at Blaine with his head tilted, his brilliant eyes trained on Blaine's. Blaine wanted to look away, but those eyes... they were mesmerizing.

"Um. No," Blaine said, still staring into the boy's eyes. Blaine shook his head a bit, distracted, then made a quick scan of his face. He looked to be around Blaine's age, maybe a couple years older. He had high cheekbones, eyes that looked like they were made of distilled ocean whirlpools, carefully styled hair, and he dressed like an aristocrat. The clothes were common in New York, but Blaine would have remembered that voice if he had heard it before, and he _definitely _would haveremember those eyes.

The boy was still gazing at him, his eyes narrowed a bit. His gaze made Blaine fidget. "Uh, is there anything else I can do for you?" he muttered, forcing himself to look at Puppy Boy.

"I guess we don't want dessert, right?" He looked at his date to confirm, then rolled his eyes when he saw that his date was still staring at Blaine.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, giving a soft, tinkling laugh that Blaine immediately and inexplicably wanted to hear again. "I just... I _swear _I know you. Not your face, but... I don't know, your voice is _so _familiar."

Blaine shrugged. He didn't like being noticed, even if it _was _by an extraordinarily handsome and obviously gay guy. He hadn't done anything noteworthy with his life, so being noticed meant something bad or embarrassing, neither of which were memory types he cared to dwell on at the moment.

Puppy Boy sighed loudly, and both Blaine and Pea Coat looked at him. "Can we just get the check, then?"

Blaine nodded. "I'll be right back." He turned on his heel, grateful at the chance to walk away, but was stopped by that musical voice.

"Wait."

Blaine turned, eyebrows raised expectantly. The boy looked as if he wanted to say something, but just gave a puzzled smile and shook his head. "Can you call for a cab, too, please?"

Blaine nodded and walked back into the kitchen to get their check. The weird thing was, the boy _was _slightly familiar. There was something about him that jogged something in Blaine's memory— nothing specific, but enough for him to feel that he hadn't been entirely honest when he said he didn't recognize the guy.

"Blaine!" The sound of Cooper's exasperated voice sounded from right in front of him, and Blaine let thoughts of vaguely recognizable boys leave his mind. "Am I going to have to ban you from the kitchen?" he threatened. "It's just a date, for god's sake!"

"The date..." Blaine hesitated. He really didn't want to delve back into the topic. He didn't want any more sympathetic looks and reassuring words tonight. "...is over," he lied. Cooper studied him, giving Blaine the distinct impression that his brother was once again displaying his particular skill of knowing when Blaine was lying, but thankfully didn't push the subject. Blaine grabbed the check and walked back out of the kitchen. There were enough people coming in and leaving now that he thankfully sank back into the comfort of distraction.

Thoughts of the boy with the beautiful eyes avoided him for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>Kurt shoved his hands in the pocket of his pea coat in a last-ditch effort to retain some body heat. Now that he was stuck out in the cold waiting for his cab, he wished more than ever that Rachel had revealed some hitherto unknown considerate nature and left the car for him. He wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse on his bed. The entire night had been a disaster.<p>

"Well, that was fun." Blaine's voice came from a place that was much too close to Kurt for comfort. He was huddled up against Kurt's side for some reason, and if Kurt wasn't attempting to hold onto some semblance of politeness, he would have shoved him off long before. "Kurt?"

Kurt hated the way his name sounded on Blaine's tongue. He savored the word in a way that was far too familiar for having only known Kurt for a day. Kurt gritted his teeth, ignoring him. Fortunately, the cab arrived before Blaine could say anything else. Unfortunately, the cab's arrival brought with it another set of questions.

"Your place or mine?"

Kurt abandoned his strategy of ignoring Blaine and instead turned to him, disbelief coloring his cheeks. "_Excuse _me?"

Blaine grinned his stupid, cocky grin and took a step closer, crowding Kurt's space even more. He leaned in toward Kurt's ear. "I said," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting over Kurt's ear, "your place or mine?"

It took all of Kurt's self-control to stop himself from leaning away. He was _not _going to back down first. He wouldn't give Blaine the satisfaction. After a night of being ignored and subtly insulted, he had to have at least one small victory. He would not back down.

"Neither," he answered, still staring straight ahead at the road.

Blaine chuckled. "I didn't know voyeurism was your thing, but it's kind of hot." His mouth moved from Kurt's ear to Kurt's mouth, and before Kurt knew it, Blaine's lips were moving roughly against his.

The contact lasted only a second before Kurt shoved Blaine _hard, _sending him stumbling back several feet. Kurt was shaking, but he wasn't sure whether it was in anger, shock, fear, or some combination of the three.

Blaine caught his balance just before he almost fell off the curb. He wheeled to face Kurt, his face red. "What is your _problem_?" he shouted. Passersby were starting to stare at them now. The cab driver was watching with wide eyes from his car. Kurt didn't care. All he wanted was to get far, far away where he could force his heart to stop pounding and his lips to stop tingling in peace.

"Don't . . . _ever _. . . touch me again," Kurt said slowly, calmly. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide or spoke too loudly, he would either start yelling or sobbing. This was high school all over again. The entire evening had been too close for comfort.

Kurt turned away from Blaine and got into the waiting cab without looking back. He gave the driver his address and settled back against the seat, purposely losing himself in thought.

Maybe he just wasn't cut out for dating. Every time he had tried to, it had ended up being a disaster. Maybe no one existed for him. Or maybe he was going about the whole thing wrong. Who said _he _had to go looking for his soul mate? From now on, he would focus on his internship. If Lady Fate wanted him to have a guy, she could cover him in gift wrap and a bow tie and maybe _then _Kurt would know it was the right guy for him. Until then, he'd rededicate his passions into fashion design.

The cab came to a stop right behind the Bug in front of his apartment. Kurt realized with a sliver of dread that Rachel must be home. He really didn't feel like rehashing the events of the night right now, but no doubt she was waiting up to find out how it had gone.

After paying the cab driver, Kurt dragged himself up the steps to the second floor, stopping in front of door 204. After a moment of mentally preparing himself to face the tornado that was Rachel, he opened the door.

"KURT!"

One step in the door and Rachel had thrown herself at him, her arms wrapping around him as she squealed into his chest. He stifled a laugh and peeled her off of him. "Jeez, Rach, at least let me inside!"

"Sorry, I just missed you." She laughed and took a step back, letting him move around her and to the couch, which he collapsed on with a relieved sigh.

"I saw you yesterday morning," he pointed out, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards despite his bad night. Rachel had that effect on him.

"I know, I know," Rachel said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. She threw herself down beside him on the couch and leaned her head on his shoulder. "But I have _so much _to tell you."

"You... do?" Kurt asked, surprised. He figured she would be dying to know about his date, but instead she seemed anxious to get something off of her chest. Nervous, almost. "Does it have something to do with where you were last night?"

Rachel straightened up, and Kurt was even more surprised to see her face redden. "Well, yes," she admitted. "I was— well, don't laugh, Kurt, but I was out."

Kurt waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing. "You were out."

She nodded, biting her lip.

"On a date?" he asked, being careful not to sound too judgmental.

She nodded again. "Oh, Kurt, I know I keep telling you that I'm going to forget about dating, but I met him at an audition and he was so supportive of me, and I really, really like him, Kurt."

He glanced at her, noticing the far-away gleam in her shining eyes. He knew that look. He had seen that look a million times before, and he had been there to pick up the pieces after things fell apart. He knew he couldn't convince her not to date this guy, whoever he was; once Rachel started pursuing something, she only stopped when she crashed.

He searched for a truth he could say without insulting her. "Well," he finally said, "I'm glad you're happy. But, just for the record, I wouldn't rely on guys you meet at auditions."

She gasped and turned to face him completely, bringing her legs up on the couch. "Oh my god, I totally forgot! How did things go with Blaine?"

Kurt heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, not even caring about messing it up at this point. "It was a disaster," he told her. "He was a complete jerk. He spent the entire night either talking about himself or coming on to me. About an hour into the date, he told me he was only interested in a one-night stand. Then, when I told him I didn't want to have sex with him, he _kissed _me."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. "_No_."

"Yes!" Kurt had to admit, he actually _did _feel better telling Rachel about the terrible night he'd had. She was a great audience, laughing and slapping her hand to her mouth at all the right places.

"What did you do?" she asked with wide eyes.

"I pushed him away and told him to never do that again. Then I just left."

Rachel shook her head slowly. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I had no idea he was like that... I mean, he seemed so nice when I talked to him! He was a perfect gentleman." She narrowed her eyes. "Why would he act one way to me and then totally different with you?"

Kurt shrugged wearily. "I don't know. Maybe he had made a stupid bet with his friends that he could hook up with me. Maybe he just gets off on messing with people. But you are officially not allowed to send me on blind dates ever again." He patted her knee. "It's not your fault. People aren't always the way they seem."

Rachel looked uncharacteristically thoughtful at his words. "Do you..." She trailed off, then seemed to find some inner resolve. "Do you really think that?"

"Well, it was kind of proven tonight, wasn't it?"

Rachel nodded, still looking distant. "People can change, though, right? Without it having to be some sort of act?"

"Yeah..." Kurt stared at her. "Rachel, are you okay? You're being weirdly introspective tonight."

She smiled at him, but the gesture wasn't all there. "Yeah, just thinking."

Kurt stood up from the couch, stifling a yawn. "Okay, well, I'm going to go drown the taste of Blaine's lips from my mouth and then go to bed. You want to have breakfast out tomorrow?"

"Oh, I can't," Rachel said apologetically. "I'm meeting—" She stopped, and Kurt had the feeling she had been about to say a name. "I have a date with my, um... my date," she finished lamely.

Kurt just nodded. He was burning with curiosity, but he knew Rachel would tell him more in her own time. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. This always happened when Rachel found new guys; he got shunted to the side while she got all caught up in the thrill of new love, then she came crawling back to him when it was over.

He swallowed his irritation. "Okay. Fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Kurt."

* * *

><p>Cooper waved goodbye as the last two busboys left the kitchen. With a tired sigh, he made a few final swipes of the counters with an old rag.<p>

"Hey, Anderson the First— I'm outta here!" Santana peeked her head in through the kitchen doors to say goodbye, stopping when she saw him cleaning the counters. "Why are you always the one who's stuck here cleaning up on Fridays?" she asked, eyeing the cloth in his hands with distaste.

He shrugged. "I know you guys have got better things to do on Friday nights." Staying late was worth it if it meant ensuring the loyalty of his employees. His father had taught him _something _useful.

Santana fully entered the kitchen, making sure the doors had closed behind her before she spoke. "Listen, go easy on Blaine tonight, okay?" she said in a low voice.

Cooper tensed up, felt his heart beating faster. "Why?"

"Because," Santana said as she hopped up on a countertop, "your brother just got stood up. And he's taking it kind of... well, he's not great."

Cooper made a beeline for the door, but Santana grabbed his arm before he could go charging into the dining area.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I _told _you to take it easy. Just don't bring up dating for a bit, all right?"

"He's my _brother_," Cooper retorted sharply, yanking his arm free of Santana's grip. "I don't need you telling me how to handle him."

Santana just raised her eyebrows at him. Her taking this so lightly made Cooper even more annoyed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, knowing she wouldn't tell him anything unless he calmed down.

"Tell me his name," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"What?" Santana looked at him as if he were crazy, which he could be when it came to Blaine.

"Tell me the name of the guy who hurt my brother so I can go kick his ass," Cooper carefully explained.

Santana leaned back on her hands, looking bored. "So, Blaine got the brains and you got the brawns, is that it? What a dynamic duo."

Cooper glared at her, but she just rolled her eyes at him.

"Listen up, Braveheart," Santana said coolly. "I don't know the guy's name, but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. You can't protect your brother from the world."

"I can sure as hell try," Cooper growled.

Santana shrugged and pushed herself off the counter in one fluid motion. "You see if he'll let you." She moved toward the door, then stopped in front of it. "You missed a spot," she said without turning around, and then she was gone.

Cooper threw the dish rag down on the counter and followed her out, flicking the lights off on his way. Santana walked past Blaine and patted him on the head before shooting Cooper a meaningful glance and leaving with the wave of a hand. Cooper stood in front of the kitchen doors for a moment, just watching Blaine. He was sitting on the piano bench, playing a slower, more melancholy version of what Cooper recognized as Silly Love Songs. This was worse than Santana had made it out to be.

He crossed over to the piano bench and sat down beside Blaine, who continued playing without a pause or indication that he noticed Cooper's presence.

"How you doing, bro?" Cooper asked quietly.

"I'm okay," Blaine answered just as softly, and then he turned to flash a smile of fake complacency at Cooper, never missing a note.

Blaine always did that— bad things would happen and he'd fold into himself and mold his face into whatever he thought his audience wanted to see. It was his coping mechanism. That frozen smile was what Cooper would come home to see whenever Dad had yelled at Blaine because Cooper wasn't there to yell back. It was the same smile Blaine wore after Sadie Hawkins, the smile of a guy who was so hurt that he couldn't bear to hurt anyone else. That smile turned Blaine into a helpless kid trying to please the world. That smile broke Cooper's heart.

"Blaine," he started uncertainly, then stopped, not sure of what he could or should say. "Maybe that guy just forgot."

Blaine didn't answer until a minute later, after he had played the last lingering note of Silly Love Songs. Then he turned to Cooper with that same smile. "Yes," he said, in a voice that might have sounded cheerful if Cooper hadn't known better, "I'm just forgettable like that."

Cooper didn't know what to do. He hadn't seen Blaine this despondent for years, and the whole thing was brought on by a guy he hadn't ever met before. Maybe getting Blaine angry would elicit a better response.

"Don't get all pathetic on me!"

No reaction. Blaine just turned back to the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys like he was making up a set list in his head.

Cooper sighed. "What's his name, Blaine?"

Blaine's head shot up as he twisted to look at Cooper, the old fierce light in his eyes. "Just leave it alone, Coop."

Cooper shook his head, determined. "I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most—"

"It wasn't your fault," Blaine interrupted firmly. "You were in college."

"It doesn't matter. Remember when you broke your wrist trying to climb that tree in the backyard?"

"Coop, I was four," Blaine protested weakly.

"_I don't care_." Cooper snorted. "You made me promise always to be there for you when you got hurt. It was a pinky-promise. I broke it. That's some serious shit." He paused. "Just tell me what his name is."

Blaine looked suspicious. "Why are you asking? What are you going do?"

"I'd just like to know for future reference. I promise I'm not going to go all Ninja Turtles on him. Santana would kill me." Cooper held out his pinky, and Blaine hooked his own pinky around his brother's.

"Kurt Hummel," Blaine told him. "But it doesn't matter. I'll be fine. I mean, I never even met the guy. It's not like my heart is broken."

Cooper didn't say anything. He knew better. Blaine might not have known _Kurt Hummel_, but he was just one more person who Blaine had put his hopes on, and one more person who had let him down.

"I'm sorry, Blaine. I'm sure there will be other guys like him." He shook his head. "No, I mean, not other guys who will stand you up, but other guys for you to date."

Blaine nodded. "It's better this way. I'll be graduating in a couple of months and then heading back to California to work with Dad. Any relationship probably wouldn't have lasted."

Cooper bit his lip, wishing he could do a better job of comforting Blaine; but once again, he'd failed him. He searched for something to cheer Blaine up, his eyes immediately landing on the piano. "Hey, Blaine," he said slowly.

"You've got a Cooper-has-an-idea look right now. Should I be worried?"

Cooper ignored him. "You know how Consider the Lemming usually takes our Friday night live performance gig?" Blaine nodded slowly, not seeing where Cooper was going with this. "Well, they broke up. Apparently Sam slept with Fred's sister, and it was a huge problem, and anyway"—Cooper grinned at Blaine, excitement coloring his voice— "I was thinking you could take their place."

Blaine didn't say anything for awhile, which worried Cooper. He figured Blaine would be ecstatic for the chance. He had loved performing since he was a kid; he'd often forced Cooper to put on little performances for their parents when they were home. This was like that, except it would just be Blaine and he'd be paid.

"I don't know..." Blaine looked down at the piano. He looked nervous for some reason. "I mean, I mess around on the piano, but I don't play when people are, you know, actually listening. I don't know if I'm really that good anymore. I don't want to drive your customers away."

Cooper laughed. "Please, if they haven't been driven away by my lack of interior decorating skills and Santana's _charming _personality, a bit of piano and guitar isn't gonna bother them." Blaine still looked unconvinced. "Oh, come _on, _Blaine, you know you'll love it. This is for you. Customers focus on their food, anyway; they probably wouldn't notice if I hired a troupe of talented monkeys to do jigs up there every Friday."

Blaine played a scale slowly on the piano, his fingers moving absentmindedly over the keys, before he placed his hands in his lap and gave Cooper the first real smile he had seen from Blaine all night. "I'll do it."

Cooper stood up from the piano bench, pulling Blaine up after him. "You're not going to flake on me, are you? You're sure you want to do it?"

"I'm sure."

And they shook on it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Two Months Later**_

Kurt sunk down in the comfortable leather chair he'd been sitting in for an hour. He should have listened to his coworkers and arrived to the meeting at least a half-hour later than its scheduled starting time of 10 a.m. As an intern, he had been told to arrive early or don't come at all. Now that he had an actual paid position with a team of designers, however, being late was apparently _in_.

He looked around the room, surreptitiously gauging whether his fellow fashion designers were as impatient to begin as he was. Most of them looked calm— bored, even.

There were ten people on the team, including Kurt. All of them were recently promoted interns, but had been on the team long enough to grow accustomed to Anthony's supposedly frequent tardiness.

Seven of the members had been on this team for over six months now, and were itching for a promotion. Kurt and two other interns had been drafted out of internship and onto the team only a month before. One of the other ex-interns, Brendon, was a good-looking but standoffish guy who was currently chatting animatedly with the other, Alyssa. They were both young, maybe a couple years older than Kurt. He had hoped that maybe he could find friendship with them; but after a month of trying to strike up conversation, it became obvious that they had been friends long before he'd moved to New York and had no interest in expanding their tightly knit circle of friends to include him. Kurt had a feeling that Brendon disliked him for some reason.

Sure enough Brendon and Alyssa turned to look at him, Brendon with a sneer and Alyssa with something that looked curiously like pity. He quickly looked down, his cheeks warming as he heard Brendon give a derisive snort. Even among professionals who shared his interests and ambition, he was spurned. He felt like the new kid, and dressed like one too. All his team members wore plain black suits, only adorned with a necklace or a watch; he hadn't gotten the memo. He felt extremely conspicuous in his sequined jackets and various accessories, but he really didn't _own _anything subtle. Once he'd moved to New York, he'd completely embraced the side of him that McKinley had tried so fervently to suppress. Now it seemed as if, even in the fashion industry, he was too... _loud_.

"Hello, hello!"

He looked up to see Anthony stroll into the conference room, straightening his tie unnecessarily. Kurt was gratified to catch a glimpse of bright pink socks under Anthony's pants and see that Anthony was wearing a large, golden wristwatch. At least _someone _appreciated individuality. Kurt sat up straighter in his chair, totally focused now that they were actually getting somewhere. Anthony moved to the front of the room and clapped his hands excitedly, rocking back on the balls of his feet as he looked each of the team members in the eye.

"I have some _great _news for all of you!" Anthony grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He always brought a ton of energy to a room, which Kurt appreciated immensely.

"Now, I hate to be a namedropper but I _do _have some connections in many different industries," Anthony told them. "Most notably, on Broadway. I spent a lot of my early career working as an Assistant Costume Designer for various productions, and I made some friends."

Kurt usually hated it when snooty fashion people talked about their _connections_, but Anthony seemed to be a good guy. He seemed more grateful for the combination of luck and talent that brought him to the top of New York's fashion industry, rather than egotistical.

"Now, I am very pleased to announce that I have the opportunity to offer one of you that Assistant position. Think of it as an apprenticeship with a designer who has won Tony's and several other nominations for her work." Anthony paused, letting this all sink in, before he continued. "How many of you know who Susan Hilferty is?"

Kurt gasped before he could stop himself.

Anthony laughed. "I can see Mr. Hummel recognizes the name. Kurt, why don't you elaborate for the rest of the team."

Kurt swallowed, his throat dry. "She's, um— she's _fantastic_," he breathed. "She's designed over 300 productions. _Wicked, Spring Awakening, How to Succeed_."

Anthony nodded, looking at Kurt appreciatively, then addressed the rest of the room, who were staring at Kurt with varying degrees of surprise and resentment. "One of you will be a part of Susan's _Wicked _revival Broadway tour. You'll be working in close contact with her and the actors. Susan is a good friend of mine, and she's the first person I worked under. I owe my career to her, so this is a _big _opportunity.

"How are you going to choose?" Brendon asked, looking nervous.

Anthony shrugged. "Impress me. You're all on your way to becoming individual fashion designers. Your job is creativity. I'm not going to hand ideas to you." He looked at Brendon to get his point across, then at each of them in turn. "If I were you, I'd start by thinking about what you can contribute to our Summer Season."

Kurt raised his hand. Brendon snickered and Kurt put it down quickly. "How long do we have to—" Kurt waved his arm around— "impress you?"

"You start now. I'll pick someone in two months or so, near the end of May." Anthony winked at Kurt, then said, "Impressing me also means knowing a bit about your field of work. You might consider doing some research or at least asking Mr. Hummel who Susan Hilferty is." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room as suddenly as he had entered it.

The room was silent for only a second before it exploded into a frenzy of activity. Kurt sat in his chair, stunned, as the rest of his team gathered their papers and filed out of the room, chattering excitedly as they made plans and discussed how best to get on Anthony's good side. Kurt was shocked that Anthony even knew his name, let alone complimented him. Still, he knew not everyone would be pleased at him being singled out.

"Perfect Kurt Hummel," Kurt heard Brendon mutter as he left the room with Alyssa. Kurt glared at his retreating back. Brendon was just jealous, obviously, but it stung to be hated by someone who never gave him a chance.

_Get used to it_, he told himself firmly. The world he lived in now didn't allow for self-pity. He collected his assorted notebooks and tucked them under his arm, his mind already spinning with ideas. He would get this internship even if it killed him.

* * *

><p>The end of May arrived with a light breeze that hinted of the summer to come. The deadline for his work inched closer and closer, and it was not unusual for Kurt to spend hours at a time holed up in his room with nothing but drawing pads and swathes of fabric to keep him company. Pencil smudges became well-acquainted with the bags under his eyes, and his hair seemed to be in competition with his clothes to see which could be in the highest state of disarray.<p>

He had been working for the past two months on a portfolio full of sketches and design ideas for the company's Summer Line. He didn't think the others on his team would be as ambitious as to create an entire portfolio from scratch with only two months to work on it, and he was hoping this would push Anthony to choose him. He wanted this job more than anything. No, he _needed _it. _Wicked _represented everything that his life had been up until now: the underdog succeeding against all odds. All he was missing was a love interest and the green skin. Of course, if he spent any more time under the dull overcast of the lights in his apartment, his skin might just turn that color by itself.

The only reprieve he allowed himself was going to _Cooper's _on Friday nights and listening to the new singer they'd hired there. Kurt had quickly become more than a little obsessed with the guy.

That Friday night, Kurt was once again at _Cooper's_, sitting at the bar, sipping on a glass of Fernet chased with a bit of ginger ale**, **and feeling increasingly frustrated as the guy onstage crooned an acoustic version of Can't Take My Eyes Off of You.

Kurt hated that he didn't know who this guy was. He recognized him, of course— the curly hair, his short stature and broad chest, and especially those _eyes _that were a light brown mixed with all the best of golden sunsets. He was the same waiter for which Kurt had felt a familiar tugging in his memory a couple months ago. A man with many talents, apparently.

But that wasn't what was driving him crazy. It was his _voice_. Kurt recognized that voice.

"_But if you feel like I feel, please let me know this is real_. _You're just too good to be true, I can't take my eyes off of you,"_ the man sang, his voice floating softly down toward the diners, who chattered obliviously over his song.

Kurt smiled a bit; he was the only one enraptured by the performance, and he couldn't even explain why. Every Friday, he was drawn like a magnet to the restaurant, to this _boy _whose voice played in his dreams like a song he'd once heard but had forgotten. He told himself that it was just because of the burning curiosity he had to find out where he'd heard this guy before, but it was more than that. It was stupid, but he felt as if he had some weird connection with this boy whose voice was melted honey.

Every Friday, Kurt fought the urge to stay, to wait for the man after he finished performing, to introduce himself. Every Friday, Kurt listened as he finished his last song and exited the stage with a small scattering of applause from the few who had appreciated the music. Every Friday, Kurt watched from a distance as the man reentered the dining room, guitar case in tow. And every Friday, Kurt left _Cooper's _and made his way home, disappointed.

* * *

><p>"Kuuurt!"<p>

Rachel's singsong voice called from behind the closed door of his room. Kurt sighed, set down his pencil, and rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes. "Yeah?"

She knocked once, then peered her head inside. "Can I come in?"

"Rachel, you and I both know you'll come in anyway, so I don't even know why you bother knocking," he pointed out.

She ignored him and entered the room, holding her arms suspiciously behind her back. "Did you forget what today is?"

He searched his memory. It wasn't a major holiday, so he should be off the hook. "Um... Friday? The day that Anthony reviews my portfolio, makes his decision, and my life is either made or destroyed?"

She sighed. "I think you're stressing yourself out far too much over this, for the record."

"This is _Wicked_, Rachel. You of all people should realize how important this is to me."

"I _do _understand," Rachel protested. "I _am _planning on auditioning, you know. She pulled her hands out from behind her back, revealing a cupcake perched in the center of one palm and a small, nondescript shopping bag held in her other. "May 27? Ring any bells?"

"Oh!" Kurt blinked, surprised. His birthday. He was twenty-four today. He had thought of it briefly the week before, but only to mourn the possibility of having to go out and be social when he should be working on his portfolio. Since then, he'd delved so far back into his work that the date had completely slipped his mind. He took the cupcake and present from Rachel. "Thanks, Rach. You really didn't have to get me anything."

"You're my best friend," Rachel said with a bright smile as she sat down on the corner of his bed. "Of course I did. Now open up your present!"

Kurt set his cupcake down and dutifully searched beneath an abundance of wrapping paper to find a gorgeous Alexander McQueen scarf that he'd been eyeing just a few weeks ago. Kurt stared at it, shocked.

"Rachel, you— I mean, this is really beautiful, and oh my god it's fantastic, but— I can't—" he stuttered, holding the scarf out in front of him helplessly. He knew how expensive the scarf was. He and Rachel had both had mini-heart attacks when they saw the tag out while out window-shopping.

Rachel took the scarf from his hands and looped it around his neck. "You're welcome. And don't you dare try to tell me you can't keep it but because you and I both know you love it."

Kurt smiled, still staggered by the gift. "I... yeah, you're right. It's amazing. Thank you so much."

"Happy birthday, Kurt." She gave him a tight hug, then stood up, looking apologetic. "Look, I feel really bad about this, but J— James asked me out tonight. I could always cancel if you wanted to do something, but I knew you were still working on other stuff for work and I wasn't sure if—"

"Oh, no, go ahead," he told her. She went out with this guy a lot but Kurt was just happy she had finally let him know a name at least. It was unusual for Rachel to not be brimming over with anecdotes about the guys she dated. When it was Finn, Kurt had been treated to several hour-long discussions on Finn's favorite breakfast foods. But for some reason with this James guy, Rachel had only told Kurt that he was the son of a director and had been mum on any other details.

Rachel hovered over him uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay with it? I feel really bad leaving you here on your birthday."

Kurt waved his hand in the air. "No, no, it's fine. Birthday or not, I have to get this stuff done. You're actually doing me a favor. One less distraction."

Rachel bit her lip, considering, then nodded. "All right. I'll probably be late tonight."

"Do you know when exactly you'll be home...?" Kurt asked, trying to sound casual.

Rachel seemed to buy his act, or at least thought it was innocent enough of a question. "Um, maybe 10 or so?"

"Okay, great," Kurt said, trying not to let relief bleed through into his voice too much. He wanted to go to _Cooper's _that night, if he got enough work done, as a bit of a birthday present to himself. Rachel didn't know about his weekly excursions to see the live entertainment; Kurt had a feeling that she would think it was weird, or unhealthy in some way. Anyway, he didn't want to share the singer with Rachel. He felt strangely possessive of the boy he'd only spoken to once.

"I'll see you later, then. Have a good birthday. Don't work _too _hard." Rachel kissed him on the cheek, then left him to his work.

Kurt dutifully worked for the rest of the day, trying not to check his cell phone for the time too often. He felt jittery and anxious. He knew Anthony was making his decision, and he knew that he was on a major threshold of his life.

At 7:00, Kurt shut his notebooks. He couldn't do any more work that night. He told himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that the live entertainment at _Cooper's _started at 7:30. No, that wasn't it at all. He was going to go out because it was his birthday. He was going to have a few drinks, have some fun. He was going to get a little stupid. After all, he deserved it.

* * *

><p>Kurt leaned back, forgetting he was on a bar stool, and promptly spilled the rest of his Fernet over the counter as he tried to regain his balance. "Oops," he giggled a bit loudly, setting his glass down on the counter and ordering another drink. He was glad he had walked to <em>Cooper's<em>. He thought he might be the _tiniest _bit tipsy. He wondered where Santana was. He hadn't seen her all night. He had hoped to talk to her, find out who the performer was.

The bartender mopped up the puddle of liquid he had spilled and handed him another drink. Kurt took a sip, then set it down and watched the stage. His favorite live entertainment was coming to the end of the show, and as usual, had abandoned his guitar in favor of the piano that had taken up permanent residence on _Cooper's _front stage. The man was sitting in front of the piano, softly playing the introduction to a melody that Kurt couldn't quite place.

Kurt knew his performance habits by now, having seen them week after week. He always started off slowly, running his hands over the instrument, plucking at a string or playing a note absentmindedly like the music was talking to him and telling him what to do. Kurt shivered a bit as the music began to pour from the stage, transforming into a haunting melody that Kurt hadn't heard for years.

Then the man started singing, his eyes closed while his fingers raced each other across the ivory keys. Kurt closed his eyes, too, tuning everything out. Nothing existed at that moment— not the diners who talked over the performance, not the distant clinking of dishes from the kitchen. Nothing existed but the music.

_"Before I met you, I was all right..."_

That insistent tug of familiarity was stronger than ever. Kurt was so close to remembering _something_. Where had he heard that voice before? _Where_?

_"We'll be young forever..."_

Teenage Dream. Western Ohio's 2012 Sectionals Championship. _Of course_. Kurt remembered sitting between Rachel and Quinn, watching an all-boys a capella Glee club side-stepping in unison to a Katy Perry song. He remembered leaning over and whispering to Quinn that their lead singer would be cuter without the bed of gel on his head, and he remembered laughing when Rachel shushed him because she was "trying to scope the competition, Kurt!"

He _remembered_. Kurt was so relieved at the realization that he wasn't crazy. This was the same boy that he had been so impressed with at Sectionals. He looked a bit different now— more mature, now that he wore a v-neck that hugged his chest instead of the stupid private school uniform, and now that he had stopped restraining the curls that had hidden under all that gel. His voice was different, too. Stronger, more controlled. But this was, undoubtedly, the same boy.

Kurt watched the rest of the performance, his mind at war with itself. He should introduce himself.

No, that would be weird.

_"Don't ever look back..."_

But why _shouldn't _he introduce himself? There was no harm in just saying hello, right?

_"Don't ever look back..." _Onstage, the song was over, the last word trailing off and leaving a strange stillness within Kurt.

He watched as the man thanked the room (although few patrons were actually listening) and walked offstage. He waited until the man had reentered the dining room and was walking toward him, and then Kurt Hummel swallowed the last of his drink and made a decision.

"Hey, that was really good," he offered up when the man was a couple feet away. He looked up, surprised, his eyes trained directly on Kurt. Kurt's heart thumped faster and he fought to swallow, his throat dry, as the man approached him. He was more handsome up close; Kurt had realized that months ago when he had waited on him. But now, when it was just him and the man, and those auburn eyes were bearing into him, it was almost too much to handle.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes searching Kurt's face, an unreadable expression in them. "I don't get that a lot."

"I can't imagine why not," Kurt told him. "Your voice is amazing. It's been awhile since I last heard it." Kurt imagined the alcohol he had drank coursing through his veins, emboldening him, diminishing his inhibitions.

The man blinked. "You're— I remember you."

Kurt sat up straighter. "Do you really?"

"Yeah. Your eyes— I mean, I just—" He stopped, flustered. "I waited on you, like four months ago. You were on a date..."

Kurt groaned. "Oh, don't remind me. That guy was a jerk. _Blaine_."

The man just stared at him, looking startled. "How do you know my name?"

"What?" Kurt shook his head. "No, I was just— Blaine was the name of the guy I was on a date with that night."

"Oh. Oh." The man tilted his head, looking at Kurt with something like suspicion in his eyes. "It's just... my name's Blaine, too. So I thought you were, I don't know, stalking me or something. Because I've seen you here before. On Fridays." He paused. "What did you mean when you said it's been awhile since you heard my voice? You were here last week."

Kurt hesitated, not sure what to make of this. This guy, Blaine the Singer, had remembered him from four months ago when he was on a date with Blaine the Jerk, and had also noticed him sitting in the corner of _Cooper's _and watching Blaine like a creep every Friday. It figured. Kurt had finally gotten up the courage to talk to him, and he had come off like a stalker. He was probably seconds away from calling security.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Kurt finally asked, and then mentally slapped himself. _That _was an even creepier thing to say. He was so bad at this social interaction stuff.

Surprisingly enough, Blaine sat down on the stool next to him. Kurt opened his mouth to ask him what he wanted, but before he could, Blaine called out to the bartender.

"Hey, Johnny, can you get me a beer? And..." Blaine turned to Kurt. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Kurt."

Blaine's brow furrowed, but he turned back to the bartender. "And another one of whatever Kurt's drinking."

"So you work here?" Kurt asked, trying to smooth over the awkwardness in the air.

"Who are you?" Blaine swung his legs around the bar stool, turning to face Kurt completely. He looked a bit angry for some reason, but Kurt had no idea what he'd done wrong.

"I'm just a guy," Kurt said, bewildered. "I swear I'm not a psycho. It's just that your voice was really familiar to me when you talked to me in February, and it's been bugging me all this time, and I finally realized tonight— you were a Warbler."

Blaine nodded slowly. "Yeah. And you are...?"

"We competed against each other." Blaine still looked blank. "In high school? At Sectionals? I was in New Directions."

Blaine's eyes lit up. "Oh! No way! Are you from Ohio, then? Well, yeah, I guess you'd have to be. Whoa. That's... really cool." He laughed, a deep sound that filled up his entire body. "I'm sorry for freaking out, but you know how you said you dated a Blaine?" Kurt nodded. "Well, I almost dated a Kurt."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "How do you _almost _date someone?"

"You plan to go on a date with them, and then you get stood up," Blaine explained.

Kurt winced. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

Blaine shrugged. "Well, it's not your fault. I'm over it, it wasn't really a big deal."

The bartender handed them their drinks then, and Blaine clinked his beer against Kurt's glass. "Here's to meeting strangers who aren't really strangers!"

Kurt laughed. "And here's to nicer Kurt's and Blaine's than we've met in the past."

Time slipped by quickly as Kurt spoke with Blaine about anything and everything. Blaine told Kurt about graduating college and his plans to work for his father, and Kurt told Blaine about _Wicked _and how nervous he was to hear his boss's decision. They reminisced about Glee club and marveled at the fact that they had not only competed against each other, but ended up living in the same state. The counter in front of them became cluttered with empty bottles and glasses, as both men got progressively drunker. Kurt knew he should probably stop drinking when the alcohol started tasting like water, but instead he switched to beer so he could keep going. It all tasted the same after awhile.

"So," Kurt said slowly, trying to wrap his mouth around the words, "today is a very special day."

Blaine laughed. Kurt had found that the more alcohol Blaine drank, the more prone he was to random and loud bursts of laughter. It was kind of endearing.

"Today is my _birthday_," Kurt whispered, taking another gulp of his drink. _Cooper's _had the best drinks _ever_.

"Yeah?" Blaine frowned. "I feel like such a jerk. I didn't even get you a present."

"It's not too late, you know." Kurt glanced at his watch, struggling to make the numbers stop swimming in front of his eyes. "It's only 10. How about a kiss for the birthday boy?"

Kurt wasn't sure what made him say it. The small part of him that was still able to feel embarrassment wanted to snatch his words back as soon as they had left his mouth. But without any hesitation, Blaine leaned forward and his lips connected firmly with Kurt's. He closed his eyes instinctively. Blaine's hands cupped his face as his lips moved wetly against Kurt's. Kurt placed his hands against Blaine's chest, needing something to anchor him, and he felt Blaine's heart thumping languorously.

Blaine broke away after a few seconds. The kiss had been sloppy and had tasted of alcohol, but Kurt still felt warm and dizzy.

"Happy birthday." Blaine grinned at him, and Kurt couldn't help but giggle.

"That was—"

"Yeah," Blaine agreed before Kurt finished. They shared a laugh, then quieted, looking at each other. Blaine leaned in slightly, and Kurt felt his breath quicken, anticipation building in him, but—

Kurt's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pressed at its buttons through his jeans, but it continued vibrating insistently. With an apologetic glance at Blaine, he dug it out of his pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Kurt?"

Kurt sighed. "Yes. Who else?"

"Kurt, where _are _you? I just got home and I was worried because I didn't know you were going out and it's really late and there was a message on the machine from your boss and—"

"Wait, wait, slow down," Kurt said, his head pounding. "There was a message from _who_?"

"Anthony! He said he wanted to talk to you and I guess he called like two hours ago? The message said it was important."

Kurt's mind was racing. He had to get home. "Can you pick me up?"

Rachel huffed. Kurt could tell she was irritated. "Where are you? Are you drunk?"

"_Cooper's_," he answered, ignoring her second question.

"By yourself?"

Kurt glanced at Blaine, who was staring at his lips, and swallowed. "Not— not exactly. Just... can you please come get me?"

"Fine. But I will have you know that this is very unlike you and—"

"I'm hanging up now," he said, and clicked _end call_. He knew he would be in trouble with Rachel later, but even if he were totally sober, her voice was a bit loud. Now, after who-knew-how-many drinks, it was unbearable. He'd make it up to her later.

"Problem?" Blaine asked, his eyes slowly dragging from Kurt's lips to his eyes. Kurt was struck again by how beautiful his eyes were, the way they seemed to oscillate between green and brown depending on the light.

"Not really. My boss called apparently, and my roommate's freaking out, so I guess I should head home. I—" he stopped, not sure what to say. "I hope I can see you again?" he asked, hopeful.

"I'm here every night," Blaine said. "So, yes."

"Good." Kurt stood from the bar stool, balancing himself with one hand on Blaine's shoulder. "So, I'm going to go. Thanks for the, um... thanks."

Blaine grinned at him. "Thank _you_."

* * *

><p>Blaine stayed on the bar stool until the last customer had left <em>Cooper's. <em>He didn't really think he'd be much of a help taking orders, and anyway, Cooper had hired a new waitress so things weren't so hectic around the restaurant. He asked Johnny for another water and sipped it, his head already pounding after the amount he'd had to drink that night.

"Blaine, _there _you are!" Cooper sat down on the stool next to him, the one that Kurt had occupied an hour earlier. "Where've you been all night?" Cooper leaned in and sniffed him. "Whoa, someone's drunk. What happened to you?"

Blaine sighed. "I think I just kissed a guy. And I don't even know his last name."

Cooper blinked. "I don't think I've ever been more proud of you in my entire life."

"It's not funny, Coop."

"Are you kidding? This is hilarious!" Cooper slapped him on the back. "Congratulations. You are now officially an Anderson. I was wondering. The DNA tests were inconclusive."

Blaine groaned. "My life is like a bad Kelly Clarkson song."

"That's a bit optimistic of you," Cooper said, rolling his eyes.

"How so?"

"That's implying that there are _good _Kelly Clarkson songs."

Blaine tried to punch Cooper in the arm, but missed. "Shut up. You and I both know that Kelly is one of the best—"

Cooper's phone rang then, interrupting Blaine's diatribe. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen, frowning.

"Who is it?"

"Dad." Cooper pressed_ accept _and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

Blaine watched as Cooper's expression grew darker.

"Is that really necessary? He's doing fine— yeah, okay." Cooper held the phone out to Blaine wordlessly. "He wants to talk to you."

Blaine took the phone, steeling himself up before speaking. "Hello?"

"Blaine." It always amazed Blaine how his father could load single syllables with so much disappointment and disapproval. He was particularly good at it when saying Blaine's name.

"Sir," Blaine said, because that was how he was expected to answer. Expectations meant a lot in his family.

"I heard you graduated college. Congratulations. Are you ready to come back and work for me?"

"I thought that was the plan," Blaine said, confused. He got his Business degree. His father didn't think he could be a good lawyer. He didn't say as much, but Blaine knew it was because he was gay. The plan had always been for Blaine to get a degree in Business, then come back to California and work on the business side of his dad's law firm.

"Good. I've already bought your flight. Your mother can't wait to see you again."

His mother. Of course. His father could wait forever and never see Blaine again, for all he cared.

"When am I leaving?" Blaine asked, his voice dull.

"Tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel met Kurt outside of _Cooper's _with a disapproving frown and an unceremonious sniff.

"You smell like alcohol," she informed him, wrinkling her nose as Kurt stumbled toward the car door.

"Hello to you, too, Rachel," he muttered to her back. He slid into the passenger seat, buckled his seatbelt, and lowered his seat back with a blissful smile and closed eyes. He heard Rachel close her door and insert the key into the ignition, but she didn't start the car. Kurt opened one eye, only to find Rachel staring at him curiously.

"How much have you had to drink?" Her brow was furrowed in that typically Rachel expression of _I disagree completely with your life choices._

Kurt half-shrugged and closed his eyes again. "Enough to feel it tomorrow morning. But it was worth it." His lips curled upward as he savored the memory of the warmth and fullness of Blaine's lips, the feel of his hands, one cupping Kurt's cheek and the other gripping his waist. "_God_, was it worth it."

"What do you mean? What could you possibly have gained from ensuring you'll have a hangover all day tomorrow?" Rachel sounded as if she were seconds away from having him committed.

"Confidence, Rachel." Kurt laughed and opened his eyes fully. "Confidence is key."

Rachel turned her attention back to the car, starting it and pulling away from the curb. Kurt craned his head to look through _Cooper's_ frosted windows, trying to catch a glimpse of Blaine, but he was lost amid a crowd of people. When Kurt turned away, he caught Rachel glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yes?" he asked, amused.

She pursed her lips. "Are you okay, Kurt? You seem a little... off."

"What, because I'm happy? Because I relaxed and had a bit of fun for a change?" Kurt instantly felt bad for snapping at her, but she had a perpetually judgmental look that never failed to raise his guard. "Kissing someone isn't a crime, Rachel," he pointed out defensively.

Rachel slammed on the brakes harder than was necessary, bringing the car to a shuddering stop at a traffic light. "WHAT?"

Kurt rubbed his head and winced. "Rachel— sudden movements. Not good. Also: inside voice. Please."

"Sorry, sorry!" Rachel stage-whispered. "But what about a kiss?"

Kurt feigned innocence, casually looking out the window at the passing cars. "Kiss? Did I say something about kissing?"

Even while whispering, Rachel was able to hurl her words at him with the force of a Midwest tornado. "You know very well that you mentioned kissing, Kurt, and if you don't fess up, I swear to God, I will—"

"Okay!" Kurt huffed out a laugh and held his hand up in resignation. "Okay. So, I've been going to _Cooper's _for awhile now, right, to see this guy—"

"So _that's _where you've been going! I _knew _it," Rachel crowed triumphantly. "A secret boyfriend! How _scandalous_."

Kurt glared at her. "Are you going to let me tell the story, or will I have to duct-tape your mouth shut?" He waited until she adopted a contrite look and mimed zipping her lips together before he continued. "Okay, so they got a new singer at _Cooper's—_"

"Wait, really?" Rachel pouted. "I really liked Consider the Lemming." She glanced at Kurt. "Oh. Interrupting. Sorry, go on."

"_Anyway_," Kurt continued, "I had this weird feeling that I knew this guy, so all this time I've been trying to figure out from where. So tonight— I don't know, I just felt more... confident. The alcohol, my birthday, I just—" He broke off, a flood of sensations crowding his mind. The feeling of Blaine's fingers curled just slightly around his face, tickling his cheekbones. The sight of his eyelashes fluttering closed over amber-flecked eyes right before his lips connected with Kurt's. His lips...

_What's wrong with me?_ He told himself to snap out of it. It was only a kiss, after all. _Only a kiss_.

"Kurt?"

Kurt blinked, coming back to the conversation. "Right, sorry. Um..."

"So you introduced yourself..." Rachel prompted.

"Right, and we talked for hours, and we just ended up... kissing," Kurt finished lamely. "Oh, but you'll never guess who he turned out to be."

"An up-and-coming, Broadway-bound star?"

"No."

"A talent scout slash director, on the lookout for rising talent?" Rachel asked, her eyes gleaming as she drove.

Kurt shook his head.

"A young man, ostracized by his peers, but dreaming of the day when—"

"_Rachel_. No." Kurt sighed. "He's from the Warblers. Remember the lead singer?"

Rachel nodded three times in rapid succession. "The Dalton Academy Warblers, an all-boys a capella group with school colors blue and red. We tied at Sectionals in 2010 but beat them successively at Regionals in 2011 and 2012." She recited the facts as if they were lines she had studied every night. "The lead singer..." She cocked her head, thinking. "I remember him. Short guy? Way too much gel in his hair? Made funny faces when he sang?"

"Yeah, that's him," Kurt laughed. "He's different now, though. He grew up." He paused. "Well, not vertically. But he doesn't use nearly as much product in his hair anymore."

Rachel giggled. "Please tell me you at least know his name."

"Blaine."

Kurt rolled his eyes as Rachel's head whipped around to look at him. "Eyes on the road, Rach. And it's a different Blaine. _God_. What are the odds, right? I mean, it's not really a common name..."

They drove in silence the rest of the way home. Rachel didn't say another word until they walked into their apartment and were settled on the sofa, Rachel primly and Kurt slumped back into the impress of the worn leather. Rachel turned to him, a rueful smile on her face.

"So. Dating the opposition."

"He's not _the opposition_," Kurt groaned. "At least we're not competing against the guy I'm da— I mean, not dating, I—" Kurt stopped at the sight of Rachel's smirk. "Oh, shut up. Blaine's nice. It's not like he's Jesse St. Jerk or something."

For some reason, Rachel blushed scarlet at his words. Kurt stared at her. She couldn't _still _be embarrassed about the whole Jesse debacle, could she? He opened his mouth, but she changed the subject before he could ask her what was wrong.

"You'll have to introduce him to me. I'd love to talk Glee Clubs with him. Show choirs forge tight bonds." She said the last quietly, without the usual intensity that accompanied most of her words.

"Come with me to _Cooper's _tomorrow," Kurt suggested. "We'll have dinner and you can meet him. I swear they're going to end up giving me a lifetime pass, I'm there so often."

Rachel answered his smile with one of her own, but her reaction was delayed. "Yeah..."

"Okay, what's wrong with you?" Kurt frowned. "You're not acting yourself."

"What's wrong with _me_?" Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You made out with a stranger, and _I'm _not acting like myself?"

"Hey, I was drunk and he was gorgeous!" Kurt protested. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Uh-huh." Rachel eyed him knowingly for a moment, then stood up from the couch with a yawn. "See you tomorrow?"

He nodded and waved goodnight, waiting for her to close her bedroom door before he stood and crossed to the phone in the kitchen.

It was funny how life kept going no matter what earth-shattering revelation waited with bated breath behind your shoulders. Kurt had lied when he told Rachel that kissing Blaine was nothing. It was want. It was safety. It was _life_. It was much, much more than nothing.

And now, here he was dialing Anthony's phone number to find out whether or not he'd gotten the job that would likely alter his world forever. Yet life went on. Dirty dishes in the sink. That insistent stain on the countertop. Life kept going even if you were stuck. More often that not, it took you with it.

Kurt dialed Anthony's number with shaking fingers and heard the tone ring once before he realized that not only was midnight probably not the best time to call his boss, but still slightly drunk _definitely _wasn't the best way. He hung up, feeling slightly relieved despite himself. As long as he didn't call, he was still in the running. Until tomorrow morning, at least, disappointment couldn't touch him.

Kurt slept fitfully that night, his dreams revolving around a particular set of eyes and hands and warm breath. He woke up sweaty, tangled in the cool cotton of his bed sheets, and with a strange sense of loss tingling across his lips. He touched his fingers to them softly, curiously. _It was just a kiss. So why...?_

He sat up. He had no time to dwell on it. Today was the day he called Anthony. He forced himself to go through his morning routine slowly while he rehearsed what he would say to Anthony if the news ended up being of the bad variety.

_Hello, Anthony._

_Oh, I didn't get it?_

_Well, thanks for reviewing my portfolio._

_I look forward to any future opportunities I'll have while working on the team._

After washing down an aspirin with half a cup of tea and a few bites of toast, Kurt was ready. Now was the time. It was early, only 8 a.m., but Anthony would likely be awake; he'd been working ceaselessly on the Summer Line for the past three months, and it wasn't uncommon to walk into his office first thing in the morning and find him facedown on his desk, a pile of fabrics as his unconventional pillow.

Kurt picked up the phone. The door to Rachel's room was closed, and he wanted to use this opportunity to make the phone call in privacy before she woke up. That way, if he didn't get it, he'd have time to compose himself before he had to face her kind words and pity.

He dialed Anthony's number, feeling much more nervous than he had the night before, probably since he'd still had liquid courage racing through his blood the night before.

This was it. For better or for worse, this was the moment that he would take the plunge.

Anthony picked up on the first ring. "Kurt Hummel!"

Kurt could practically hear the grin coming from the receiving end of the phone. He leaned against the countertop, one hand cradling the phone against his cheek. "Anthony, hi. You, uh—" He coughed. "You called yesterday?"

"Yes, I did! I wanted to talk to you about the portfolio you turned in last week."

"My portfolio?" Kurt asked, confused.

"Don't sound so nervous, Kurt!" Anthony laughed, and Kurt heard the distinct sound of a file cabinet opening and shutting on his end. "It was fantastic. Really cool stuff. There are quite a few designs in here that I'd love to see in the Summer Line."

Kurt swallowed, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He had no idea what to say. His boss loved his work. His _boss _loved his _work_.

"Kurt?"

"Yes, yes, I'm still here!" Kurt scrambled to say. "Um. Thank you. So much. That means a lot to me, to hear you say that." _Don't gush_, he reminded himself.

"So, listen," Anthony continued briskly, "Most of your designs are a bit too intricate to fit in this year, but I wanted to know if you would be open to us incorporating them into next year's lineup. We'd need your help, of course."

Kurt nodded before realizing that Anthony couldn't see him. "Sure," he said, making an effort to sound happy. He _was _glad that Anthony wanted to use his designs, but this meant at least a year more of working on the team. And if he was getting this duty of working on the Summer Line for next year, that meant he wasn't getting the _Wicked _job. Kurt swallowed his disappointment. "I'd love to."

"Great! You're obviously not going to have the time to be completely in charge of this project, so I'm placing Brendon Durano in charge. He had a lot of good visions for combining a variety of styles for a themed Summer Line next year."

"_Brendon's_ in charge?" Kurt couldn't keep the frustrated tone out of his voice. First he didn't get the _Wicked _job, and now he couldn't even be in charge of his own designs.

"Well yes," Anthony said impatiently. "Like I said, you won't have time. Brendon will be in charge, and the rest of the team will be working under him."

Anthony rattled on about his plans for the upcoming year, but Kurt couldn't bring himself to listen past the crushing disappointment crouching in his chest. He would be following Brendon's orders. He had practically been demoted. He could picture Brendon's sneering face now, his lips curled into a mix of triumph and derision.

"— to ask Susan when all of our schedules will line up," Anthony was saying.

"Susan?"

"Susan Hilferty. Come on, Kurt, keep up," Anthony chided.

"Wait, what about her?"

Anthony sighed. "Haven't you been listening? Don't make me regret giving you her Assistant position! I was saying that we'll need to have occasional meetings with you to discuss the particulars of your designs, so I'll have to ask Susan when she can let you go for a few hours so you can discuss things with Brendon and the rest of the team."

Kurt tried to say something, anything, but his voice didn't seem to be working properly. "I—oh," he finally squeaked.

"This is all assuming you accept the job," Anthony said, a note of uncertainty leaking into his voice.

Kurt found his words and hastily spoke them. "Yes, yes, I want the job. Yes."

"Good. Congratulations, Kurt. You are officially the Assistant Costume Designer for Broadway's _Wicked _Revival Tour of 2018."

His legs barely able to support him, Kurt slumped into a kitchen chair. He thought he could feel his heart racing down his chest and somewhere into his stomach. "Thank you. So much."

Anthony laughed. "Thank _you_. I'm proud to have you on our team."

Kurt heard the sound of muffled voices coming from Anthony's side.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Anthony said to someone. "Kurt, you still there?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well, I need to go now. That's really all I had to let you know, anyway. I'll let you enjoy the rest of your weekend, because we'll be getting down to business on Monday."

"Thanks, Anthony," Kurt said again, breathlessly.

"No problem."

After hanging up, Kurt couldn't do much more than stare at the phone in disbelief, his face breaking into a grin. He had gotten the job. No matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he couldn't believe it. _I got the job_.

"Rachel!" Kurt called out to her, his voice an ecstatic song. "Guess who's working on _Wicked_?"

He couldn't help but dance a bit on his way to her room. Life was good.

Rachel and Kurt made their way over to _Cooper's _early that evening, in the hopes that they could catch Blaine before he started his set. When they walked in, Kurt didn't see Blaine among the penguin-colored waiters traversing the dining area. Maybe he was in the kitchen.

He and Rachel decided to wait at the bar until Blaine showed up. They both drank straight water— Rachel because she didn't drink alcohol much after the trainwreck New Directions party she had held in high school, and Kurt because he was still nursing a headache from the night before.

"Do you see him anywhere?" Rachel asked after they had been there for a half-hour. She looked bored, and had been checking her texts every couple of minutes.

Kurt took another cursory glance around the room, but couldn't see any curly-haired waiter anywhere. "Not yet. I can ask Santana where he is if she's working tonight..."

"Santana?" Rachel repeated, choking on her water. "_Lopez_?"

"The one and only," Kurt confirmed. "I met her here the night I went on that disaster date with that jerk."

"I never thought she'd end up in New York. I wonder what brought her here," Rachel mused.

Kurt shrugged, not nearly as intrigued as Rachel. He had more pressing matters on his mind. "I wonder if she can tell me what Blaine's schedule is..."

"Oh, Kurt." Rachel looked at him, a strange mix of worry and amusement in her voice. "You've fallen hard, haven't you?"

Kurt was spared the indignity of answering Rachel by the flash of a familiar, high-ponytailed woman in an apron. "Hey, San—"

He broke off as the woman turned toward him. _Not Santana. _"Sorry," he apologized, "I thought you were someone else."

Her nametag read _Kelly_ with a smiley face. Judging by the beaming smile she threw at him, the name was warranted. "Well, is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you." Kurt was struck by a sudden thought as she began to turn away. "Oh, actually, yes. You know the guy who performs here on Fridays and is a waiter every other day?"

"Oh, yes," Kelly's smile turned all-knowing and all teeth. "Blaine. He's well-known around here."

"Do you know if he's working tonight?"

"I'm not sure, hun. He was supposed to, but I haven't seen him all night." She laughed. "And it's hard for him to be late, being who he is."

"Who he is?" Kurt asked, not understanding. He glanced at Rachel, who looked just as mystified as he was.

"Would you like to talk to his brother? He can probably answer more questions than me," Kelly said. "I can bring him over right now if he's not too busy."

"Does he work here, too?"

"In a manner of speaking," Kelly said, her smile shifting into that of someone who was laughing at a private joke. "Let me go get him."

"Okay," Kurt said, watching curiously as Kelly left into the kitchens and returned less than a minute later with a man who shared Blaine's good looks. He was tall, with dark, wavy locks and eyes like the sky.

Kelly left after bringing Blaine's brother over. Kurt stared at the man for an uncomfortable moment, looking for hidden similarities between he and Blaine, before Rachel nudged him.

"Oh, um... hi," Kurt began, unsure of what exactly to say.

Rachel took over. "Good evening! We were wondering if you know where Blaine is?"

"Depends who's asking," the man said, cracking a grin at Rachel, who immediately presented her hand for shaking.

"Rachel Berry," she answered promptly, giving his hand a vigorous shake. "If you don't know who I am, don't worry— you will."

Cooper laughed loudly. "I like your style, Rachel Berry. I'm Cooper."

"_The _Cooper? As in, owner of _Cooper's_?" Rachel asked, eyes wide.

Kurt's brain clicked into realization. Blaine was Cooper's brother. That's why he did so much at the restaurant. That's why he talked to the bartender like they were old friends.

Rachel was still staring at Cooper as if he were Barbra Streisand. "I love your buns!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if that would stop the words that had already left it. "No, I didn't mean— not _your _buns. The restaurant's. I mean, I'm sure yours are nice, too, but I didn't look, so—

Cooper held up a hand to halt her faltering. "It's fine, I get it," he said, eyebrows raised. "And for the record, my buns are _fabulous_."

Rachel giggled, a little hysterically. Kurt thought it was probably time to steer the conversation onto a more manageable path.

"So, could you tell us where Blaine is? He told me he'd be here."

Cooper considered them both. "You're friends of his?"

Kurt hesitated before answering. Friends? Were they friends? They had talked for hours. They had enjoyed each other's company. Did friends kiss their friends? _Not like that. _Then again, Kurt had never really had a close guy friend before, so how would he know? "Yes," he answered finally, deciding that the alternative answer would be too complicated and embarrassing to explain.

"Then you should know that he left," Cooper said, his smile disappearing. "He moved back to California."

Kurt felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "He left?" he repeated.

"Cooper nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry," he said, correctly reading the disappointment in Kurt's eyes. "It was really short notice. He left this morning. But I could tell him you dropped by, if you'd like?"

Rachel nodded and opened her mouth, but Kurt beat her to it. "No, that's fine."

"It's really no problem," Cooper said slowly, looking first at Rachel, who was staring at Kurt, puzzled, and then shifting his gaze to Kurt. "Just give me your name."

"Kurt," Rachel supplied when he didn't answer immediately.

Cooper's eyes narrowed slightly, and he studied Kurt's face more intently. "Kurt...?"

"Hummel," Kurt said dully. There was no point. Blaine probably hadn't put aside any lingering thoughts for him. Blaine probably wouldn't even remember Kurt's name. There was no point.

"Kurt Hummel?" Cooper asked, an intense look in his eyes.

Kurt nodded, wondering where this was going.

"A word of advice," Cooper said slowly. "You stay the hell away from my brother, Kurt Hummel." And with that, he turned on his heel and strode back into the kitchen, leaving a bewildered Kurt and Rachel staring after him.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reading this and reviewing. It really means the world to me. I also wanted to take this moment to swear that this is a Klaine fanfiction— have patience. ;)

* * *

><p>Blaine sat down on a moving box labeled "Toiletries— Not Lube!" (Cooper's handiwork) and allowed himself a moment to breathe. He had only been back in California for three days, but his father already seemed to expect him to be able to jump into the logistics of running the family business.<p>

Blaine looked at the box beneath him, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the messy scrawl that Cooper had gleefully adorned it with. Cooper had somehow managed to avoid anything to do with the Anderson Law Megafirm, had lucked out and moved to New York to start his restaurant...

_Not luck_, Blaine reminded himself. _Strength_. Cooper had always been the stronger of them both. Maybe the strongest of the entire family. God knows his mother wasn't strong enough to tell his father that she didn't enjoy moving all over the country so he could start new branches of the firm. But she wouldn't have to anymore; that's what Blaine was for.

"Blaine? Are you in there?"

Blaine gave a tired sigh and stood up. There was nowhere he could hide from that voice. It was always with him, no matter where he was, reminding him that he had priorities. He shoved the toiletries box under the bed and opened the door for his father.

Stephen Anderson was a tall man with thinning black hair (dyed), a collection of identical black suits (professionally fitted and dry-cleaned), and a demeanor that reeked of dissatisfaction. Blaine supposed that this combination was what made him a highly successful and intimidating lawyer, but it didn't endear him to the family very much. Blaine had always suspected that his father had guilted his mother into marrying him.

"You still haven't unpacked?" His father surveyed the room in distaste, his gaze lingering on the bare mattress in the corner.

Blaine didn't answer. He wasn't expected or needed to confirm what a disappointment he was in every aspect. The truth was, he hadn't unpacked because unpacking meant finality. His heart was in New York, no matter what material items had come with him to California.

His father stood in the doorway, not even bothering to take a step into the room. He probably thought failure was contagious. "You've had time to unpack your little guitar," his father noted.

Blaine closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. "I'll start unpacking right now."

"I had hoped you would outgrow this music thing by now." His eyes latched onto Blaine's unforgiving brown meeting hazel. "You are an adult now, Blaine. You won't have time to indulge in these things. If you're going to help run this firm, you'll need to grow up and show your maturity. It's bad enough that you can't become a lawyer due to your," he paused before saying the next word, his lips curled, "condition."

_Condition_. Like being gay was some sort of disease. Blaine wanted to point out that there were plenty of successful gays in the business world, that he could still be successful, that he could make his father proud. But instead, he said what he was supposed to.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, staring at his dad's immaculately polished loafers.

"Get dressed," his father ordered. "There's a few suits in the closet that might fit you."

Blaine looked up, confused. "What?"

"Derek's coming over for dinner tonight to negotiate the company merger. Your presence is expected."

"Derek?" Blaine only knew one Derek— a Warbler he had gone to school with— and he was pretty sure he had become a traveling circus performer, not a lawyer.

"Derek Smythe," his father explained impatiently. "Now hurry up. We need to make a good impression. They'll be here within an hour."

Blaine heaved a sigh after his father left the room. He remembered the Smythes from dinners he'd been forced to go to as a kid. Derek Smythe was a stuffy, condescending man who acted as if he were better than everyone— a perfect match for Blaine's father, really. Blaine fondly remembered one memorable dinner when Cooper had "accidentally" spilled a club soda down Derek's front after the man had made a particularly rude comment about homosexuals not belonging in the professional world. That had been the end of Cooper's involvement with family business dinners.

That had also been the end of the Smythe's son coming to the dinners, though Blaine wasn't sure if the events were related. The kid— Sanderson or Sawyer, something pretentious like that— was probably around Blaine's age and had been a constant presence at the dinners until one night he stopped showing up, a little after Blaine had turned ten. All Blaine could remember about him was that he had intensely green eyes and looked as bored as Blaine felt. He wondered if the Smythe kid had been forced to follow in his father's footsteps, too.

Blaine walked to the closet and opened it. The only clothes in there were five black suits whose only difference seemed to be the color hanger they resided on. Blaine pulled one out at random and threw it across the room and onto the mattress. He hoped the dinner wouldn't last long; he wasn't sure he could stand hours of the conversations his father held with his lawyer friends— how much money they had, how they were spending the money they had, and how to acquire more money.

Blaine walked to his bed to pick up his suit, but his foot snagged on the toiletries box that he had hastily stuffed under there before his father walked in. He stared at the box, thinking. Maybe he would call Cooper. His brother always had a knack for making Blaine laugh when he was down. It was only six. The restaurant shouldn't be too busy in the middle of the weekday...

Blaine pulled out his cell phone, made sure the door to his room was closed, and dialed Cooper's number.

"Blaine! What's up, squirt?" Cooper's voice beamed through the phone, and Blaine smiled despite himself.

"Don't call me that, Coop," Blaine said, settling down on the cold mattress. He heard the dull chatter of cooks and waitresses in the background that told him that his brother was in the kitchen.

"We've been over this," Cooper reminded him. "You have a limited choice of lesser evils to choose from. I can start calling you Tink again—"

"All right, all right," Blaine surrendered, laughing.

"How're you doing, Blaine?" Cooper's voice turned serious, no trace of a teasing smile under it.

"I'm..." Blaine hesitated, stopping short of saying _fine_. Because he wasn't fine. He wasn't happy. He couldn't pinpoint why, exactly. It was more than just being around his dad again. It was as if he was missing something, as if he were some jigsaw puzzle with a hole in the box and a piece had slipped through without him noticing. "I'm holding in there," he finally answered with the smallest amount of the truth that he could admit. "I already miss performing."

"What do you mean, you miss performing?" Cooper asked, indignant. "You've got your guitar, and I'm pretty sure Mom didn't let Dad get rid of the piano when they moved from Ohio. You can still play, even if you can't _perform_. You should play something at one of Dad's business dinners. It'd sure as hell liven things up a bit, since I'm not there to do the livening."

Blaine shook his head. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. Dad— well, he doesn't seem very gung ho about me doing music anymore. He wants me to be focused on the firm."

"Blaine, you can't let him take away something that makes you happy," Cooper said firmly.

"He already did."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Blaine wished he could snatch his words back; he hadn't meant to whine and complain to Cooper. He didn't want to bring anyone else down.

"So, how's the restaurant doing?" Blaine asked, attempting to ease the tension.

"Not bad. Everyone misses you. Santana told me she'd castrate you the next time she saw you for leaving without saying goodbye."

Blaine chuckled. "Tell her I'll call her soon."

"Will do. You know, I've actually gotten customers wondering where you are, too. The amount of elderly folks eating out on Friday evenings has gone down considerably—"

_Kurt_. The memory hit Blaine like a freight train. The man who had looked like some otherworldly prince with his snowy skin and those eyes that held galaxies. And those _lips_, simultaneously pliant and firm against Blaine's. How could he have forgotten? Memories of that night had a surreal quality, partially due to the alcohol and mostly due to the heady sensation of kissing someone who wanted him as badly as he wanted them, but he remembered telling Kurt he'd be there every night. What if Kurt had come back to see him? Or worse... What if he hadn't?

"— and I swear to god, there were two elderly women who were absolutely LUSTING after you—"

"Coop—"

"I mean, they actually demanded their money back because you weren't there, it's really—"

"Cooper!"

"What?"

"Did, um... Did anyone come in asking about me?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I was saying." There was a strange quality in Cooper's voice, something off.

"No, I mean... a guy. Did a guy come in?"

"I don't know..." Cooper was definitely hiding something. Even his voice was fidgety. "Maybe someone, I can't remember, it's been busy—"

"Cooper," Blaine sighed, "I can tell when you're lying. You might've gotten good at tricking Dad over the years, but I know better. Someone came in, didn't they?"

"Fine, yes," Cooper admitted. "Yes, someone came in. And I would like to know what the hell you were thinking, exactly? How could you kiss this guy?"

"What? Are you mad... at me?" It was such a foreign concept. Cooper _knew _that Blaine kissed a guy— Blaine had admitted it minutes after it had happened, and Cooper had congratulated him. So why was he upset _now_?

"Of course I'm mad!" Cooper retorted, and the volume of his voice was evidence to point. "I never guessed that you would be the type to go and do something like this."

"I think I'm old enough to be kissing guys without having you jump down my throat, Cooper," Blaine said darkly. This was the last thing he needed. His father already treated him like a constant disappointment; he didn't need Cooper to do it, too.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with letting _this _guy jump down your throat," Cooper muttered.

"_COOPER!"_

Both boys were silent after Blaine's outburst.

"Blaine?" The voice came from outside of his room. His father. "Blaine, are you getting dressed?"

"Yes, sir," Blaine called back, barely able to keep his voice level. He waited until his father's footsteps had faded away. "What is your _problem_, Coop?" he demanded.

"I just thought you had more self-respect than to go around kissing guys who stand you up," Cooper said, sounding tired.

"What are you talking about? He didn't stand me up," Blaine said slowly, not understanding.

"I don't forget the guys who hurt my brother, Blaine. This guy waltzes in, says he's looking for you, and it clicked. At first I thought he was just the guy you kissed the night before, so I asked his name like any good older brother would, and you know what he said?"

Blaine sighed. "Kurt? Unless you're trying to imply that he's some secret agent with some hidden identity..."

"No, you're right. He said Kurt. _Kurt Hummel_."

Blaine froze, his mouth open mid-word. _Kurt Hummel._ How could that be? Kurt was nice, he was funny, he—

_But how much do you really know him? _An insistent voice inside his head asked cruelly.

That was the thing. He _didn't _know Kurt. They had talked for hours, yes, but what was that compared to weeks or months or years of knowing someone? What did Blaine really know about Kurt? Not even his last name, not until now.

Blaine suddenly realized what this meant. Kurt, his Kurt, the Kurt he had kissed, was the same Kurt who had stood him up months before. Kurt had claimed that he had been on a date with a Blaine. Kurt had probably recognized who Blaine was far before Blaine had known who Kurt was. Kurt had walked all over him, teasing him with lies. Kurt had played him.

Blaine hadn't known Kurt. Not really. So why did it hurt so much?

"Blaine?"

"I'm here," Blaine said quietly, remembering that Cooper was on the other line, an invisible witness to his shame. "I— Coop, I've gotta go."

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Cooper said. "I know you liked this guy, but there was no way I was going to give him your number."

"I know. It's okay, it's fine," Blaine said, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure. "You're right."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Cooper asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm fine." The lie came easier now that he had nothing to lose.

"Don't mope, okay?"

"I won't." That was one thing Blaine could promise. He would waste no more time on Kurt Hummel. Cooper was right. He had more respect for himself than to do otherwise.

Blaine hung up after telling Cooper again that he was fine. He shoved his phone in his pocket and picked up his suit, thinking that maybe his father was onto something, only wearing formal wear. It was so much easier to wear a mask that way.

* * *

><p>Rachel stared at Kurt over her coffee mug, her brown eyes unblinking and serious. "So," she began delicately.<p>

"So." Kurt ran his finger around the rim of his cup and raised his eyebrows at her.

"Would you like to talk about what happened at _Cooper's_?"

"Not particularly," Kurt said, bringing his tea up to take a sip and avoid Rachel's gaze.

"I think we should talk about it," Rachel insisted. "You can't just not say anything about it! I mean, you were obviously very upset—"

"I was confused," Kurt corrected. "Not upset. It's fine. It's nothing."

"If it was nothing, then why did Cooper freak out like that?" Rachel asked, lips pursed.

"I really don't know, Rachel," Kurt said for what felt like the billionth time. "I don't know why he got angry. I don't know why Blaine acted like he wanted to see me again and then jetted off to California. I don't know why you're persisting in questioning me about something so insignificant. _I don't know_."

Rachel bit her lip at his outburst. "He didn't seem insignificant when you told me about him," she said in a small voice, picking at the frayed edges of the kitchen tablecloth. "Blaine, I mean."

Kurt sighed and brought his elbows onto the table, resting his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to think about Cooper and Blaine and kisses and that pang of loss that twinged in his chest every time he remembered.

"What if there was a way," Rachel said, speaking carefully like she was afraid Kurt would explode, "for you to find out what happened with Blaine? Would that make you feel better?"

Kurt didn't even bother denying that he was distressed over his situation. But as much as Rachel was trying to help, she was misguided. "There isn't a way, Rach. Cooper's not going to give us Blaine's number, and to be honest, I'm not sure I want to talk to Blaine anyway."

"Kurt, you have to—"

"No, I don't," Kurt said sharply. "It was one date, okay? No, it wasn't even a date. It was a drunken kiss, and maybe it felt great, but I am completely fine with letting it sink into the past and moving on with my life. Why can't you just let me do that?"

"Because you were happy," Rachel said quietly, simply. "Maybe you couldn't see it like I could— the way you lit up when you talked about him, in a way that I haven't seen for awhile. How big you were smiling when I picked you up from _Cooper's _that night. You might now want to admit it, but you were happier then than you've been in months."

They stared at each other for a moment before Kurt's resistance crumpled. She was right. As bad as she was with her own love life, Rachel could be pretty astute when it came to his.

"What am I supposed to say to him, if I do manage to get his number?" Kurt asked. "'Please come back to New York so I can make out with you again'? He's not going to come running back, Rachel."

Rachel shrugged. "It's up to you. I just thought you might like an explanation."

Kurt thought about it and realized that, yeah, he would. "Okay. So how do we get the number."

"Simple," Rachel said, and she smiled. "Santana."

* * *

><p>Less than an hour later, Santana was standing in the middle of the living room, modeling a summer dress as Kurt walked all around her with a measuring tape in hand.<p>

"Thanks for doing this, Santana," Kurt said as he wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, took a step back to get a fuller look, then ripped it off and threw it to the ground. "I'm still working on stuff for the Summer Line, but it's really hard getting things right without a model. Rachel's gone half the time, so she's no good."

"No problem," Santana said breezily. "Where _is _Little Miss Berry, anyway?"

"She left just ten minutes ago." Kurt rolled his eyes. "She has a new boyfriend, and they're attached at the hip."

"Really?" Santana looked intrigued. "Anyone I might know?"

"Probably not. It's some guy named James, apparently, but I haven't met him. Every time I bring him up, she changes the subject." Kurt stuck a pencil between his lips as he measured Santana's waistline. "Ish weird," he mumbled around the instrument.

"What has the world come to when _Berry _is getting some and we aren't?" Santana mused, mostly to herself. "Good thing I wasn't working today, or I never would have come over here to get my gossip on..."

"I noticed you haven't been at _Cooper's _much these days," Kurt mentioned, hoping he sounded offhanded.

"Yeah, I asked if I could get some time off last week because I had an audition for an orange juice commercial."

"I've been going to _Cooper's _a lot recently," Kurt hurried to say before Santana could move onto a different subject. "Mostly on Fridays. To listen to the performer. Do you know who—"

Santana snorted. "You are whipped," she giggled, twirling her finger around in the air. "Completely."

Kurt felt a red heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "I am not."

"Oh, but you _so _are," she said, nodding her affirmation. "This is why you invited me over, isn't it? You didn't need a model— you just want the scoop on Gay Superman!"

"That's not true!" Kurt said indignantly. "I _did _need your help on the Summer Line..."

"But mostly you wanted my help in reuniting you and Clark Kent," Santana finished. "It's okay, Kurt. I know manipulation when I see it, and I'd just like to say, I am _very _proud of you."

"Proud?" Kurt asked, sitting back on his haunches and abandoning his clothing supplies on the ground.

Santana sat on the ground next to her, crossing her long legs underneath her. "From what I heard from the waitresses, you and Blaine got to know each other _very _well," she said with a wink. "I've been telling him for years that having an ass like that and not letting anyone see it was a crime—"

"I didn't have _sex _with him," Kurt interrupted, waving his hands in the air and cringing.

"Look at you," Santana said, looking at him fondly. "You're such a blushing virgin."

"Are you done mocking me?" Kurt asked, exasperated.

"Probably not, but go ahead and ask me whatever it is you brought me here to find out."

"Okay. First of all, do you know why Blaine's brother seems to harbor some crazy, _I-will-destroy-you _hatred of me?"

Santana shrugged. "No idea, sorry. I try not to pry into family business. He's always been protective, but he's usually pretty easygoing. You must have done something pretty bad to get him riled up like that."

Kurt shook his head, bemused. "All we did was kiss. Just once. And Cooper was totally friendly at first..."

"Beats me," Santana said. "Maybe that was all it took. Blaine's been going through some rough times on the dating front lately. Coop probably just doesn't want him to get hurt again."

_What about me? What if I'm the one who got hurt?_

"Second question: Do you have Blaine's cell number, and if so, can I have it?" Kurt asked.

"Yes and no," Santana answered.

"What do you mean?" Kurt gaped.

"I mean, yes, I have his number, but no, you can't have it," she explained, idly picking at a loose thread on the rug.

"Santana, listen—"

"No, _you _listen— Cooper is my boss. If he finds out that you called Blaine and realizes I gave you the number, he'll kill me. And anyway, you're deluding yourself if you think things are going to work out between you and Blaine when he's in California." She fixed Kurt with a pitying look. "I'm sorry, but I'm just telling you how it is. If I were you, I'd forget about Blaine, find a new boy toy to mack on, and move on."

Kurt nodded quietly, mulling over her words. She was right. Blaine had moved on, quite literally, all the way to California. If he hadn't left a number for Kurt to call, he probably didn't want Kurt to call. Maybe he'd even instructed Cooper to scare Kurt off if he came around. Maybe the kiss didn't mean anything. Maybe...

He would move on, he decided. He would focus on the Summer Line, and on _Wicked_. He would throw himself into his work.

Kurt picked up a swath of fabric and held it up next to Santana, comparing it to her dress. "Hey, what do you think of this color...?"

* * *

><p>Blaine shifted in his chair uncomfortably, his back aching. Only an hour into the dinner and he was already imagining vivid and painful ways to get out of it. He was bored, the suit his father had him in was scratchy and a size too big, and he had been cut off by a stern look from his father every time he tried to join the conversation. This was torture. Hell probably consisted of a series of business dinners just like this, where the chairs were hard and the company lacking. Blaine sighed loudly, earning another Look from his dad.<p>

The only interesting part of the dinner thus far had been the reemergence of Derek's son, who had been reintroduced as Sebastian. He was just as quiet now as he had been years ago, saying nothing more than a polite "hello" before seating himself next to his father and across from Blaine. Blaine looked around the room, but his gaze continuously flickered back to Sebastian. HE couldn't help but notice that the boy had filled out well since the last time Blaine had seen him. He was tall, with short brown hair and bright eyes that immediately reminded Blaine of another set of eyes he was supposed to stop thinking about.

Just then, Sebastian's eyes flitted upward, meeting Blaine's. Blaine glanced down at his virtually untouched plate of food, ears reddening. When he chanced a peek back at Sebastian a moment later, he found the other man still looking at him, his lip twitching toward an amused smile. He arched an eyebrow at Blaine as if to say, _This sucks, right?_

Caught by surprise, Blaine found himself smiling back with a shrug that he hoped said, _What can you do, though? _and not, _I have Tourettes. _

Sebastian then gave Blaine such an obvious once-over and suggestive wink that Blaine almost choked on a mouthful of champagne. Sebastian was _flirting. _Blaine searched his memory for any hint that Sebastian was gay, but couldn't remember his father mentioning anything about the matter.

But that look was undeniably _flirty_.

Blaine dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, then set his flute of champagne back down on the table. When he looked at Sebastian, the man was watching him, a slightly cocky smile on his face— and why, _why _was _cocky _the word that had come to mind— then, so fast that Blaine almost missed it, Sebastian deliberately jerked his head behind him at the door that led to the kitchen.

Blaine was still puzzling the significance of the movement when Sebastian stood up and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Mr. Anderson. I was wondering if I could use the restroom?"

Blaine's father nodded briskly. "Blaine, show Sebastian the way to the restroom," he instructed, then immediately turned back to his heated conversation with Derek.

Blaine swallowed, nodded, then stood up. "This way," he muttered, moving past Sebastian without looking at him and leading the way into the kitchen.

Sebastian stopped him a few steps in, grabbing his wrist and waiting until the door to the dining room had completely closed before he began quickly speaking. "I don't need the bathroom anymore, thanks. False alarm." He let go of Blaine and leaned back against the wall. "But listen. This dinner is boring as hell, right?"

Blaine nodded, eyes wide. _What is he playing at?_

"Glad we established that." Sebastian smirked. "So, I'm proposing that you let me take you out some night and show you some _real _fun. How about Saturday?"

Blaine nodded again, hardly realizing he had agreed to a date until after he had done so.

"Good. Now we're going to go back in there, sit down like the outstanding members of society that our fathers so rightfully believe we are, and try not to let the anticipation of our next meeting eat us up in the meantime," Sebastian drawled, looking Blaine up and down appreciatively with his last words. "Sound good to you?"

Blaine finally found his tongue. "Um, yeah. Yes. Good."

"Good," Sebastian repeated. He grinned at Blaine once more before heading back into the dining room.

Blaine stayed for a moment, trying to collect himself, then followed and sat down at the table, where he was ignored by everyone, including Sebastian, for the rest of the night.

Well, California certainly wasn't going to be _boring_.


	7. Chapter 7

_**One Year Later**_

One Year Later

Blaine trudged up the stairs, his feet leaden with weariness. The bright, early-morning sun seemed too bright to his bleary eyes. He couldn't remember being this tired since the arduous, week-long initiation that the Warblers enjoyed putting new members through.

He stifled a yawn and tried to focus on putting one step in front of the other. The problem was that he hadn't gotten much sleep for the past week, what with the long hours of preparatory lectures his father had made him sit through— that, and the thrills of anticipation that curled in his stomach every night as he tried to rest. He was supposed to be ready for work, and instead he felt like collapsing and sleeping for a month or two.

He stopped walking as he reached the door and took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden flurry of nerves flying around inside of him. This was it. He was home. He raised his hand, hesitated, then knocked firmly on the door. He waited, but no one came to answer. Maybe it was too early— it was only six, after all. His father had wanted him to arrive early so he could check in with the firm before the majority of the employees arrived, but maybe it would be better if he—

The door opened, startling him. He only had a second to feel his face split into a wide grin before he was tackled by a guy with the tamed but ferocious affection of a bear cub raised by humans.

"BLAINE!"

"Whoa!" Blaine laughed as he stumbled back. "Watch out, you'll knock me over." He steadied himself on the suitcases he had set behind him, then, slightly out of breath, looked up to fully see his attacker.

Coop hadn't changed much in a year. His hair was still frustratingly perfect, his laugh lines were still a constant presence framing his mouth, and his eyes were as bright as ever, as if he were privy to some private joke. He was staring at Blaine now with eyes full of mingled confusion and jubilation. For once, the joke was on Cooper. Blaine reveled in the event.

"But I thought— why aren't you— what are you doing here?" Cooper asked, stumbling over his words as he held Blaine by the shoulders to get a better look at him. Blaine knew he probably didn't live up to memory; he had changed, in more ways than one.

"Nice to see you again, too," Blaine said dryly. "What've you been up to for a year? Me, I've been fine. Thanks so much for asking."

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Blaine." He paused, took a breath, then rushed his next words. "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't come down for Christmas—"

"Or Thanksgiving," Blaine pointed out, doing his best to keep a petulant tone from creeping into his words.

"Or Thanksgiving," Cooper agreed, guilt stealing onto his face.

"Or my birthday."

"I'm sorry, kid," Cooper said, sounding so genuinely apologetic that Blaine didn't even have it in him to chastise his brother for the nickname. "I've been keeping really busy with the restaurant. Anyway, you know how much I hate..." He trailed off, vaguely waving his hand around. "Everything. With him."

There was no need to ask which _him_ Cooper was referring to.

"I do, too," Blaine said quietly. "But I didn't really have a choice in the matter."

Cooper looked stricken, and Blaine immediately hated himself for making everything about him when he hadn't seen Coop in a year. "Blaine—

"It's fine." Blaine held up his hand to stop any further apologies. He shouldn't have vented his anger onto his brother; it wasn't Cooper's fault. "Look, I'm just happy to be here now. Let's focus on that."

Cooper forced a smile. "Right. Sounds good. Let's go inside, it's freezing out here."

Blaine moved to pick up his luggage, but Cooper insisted on carrying it inside for him. He followed helplessly as Cooper struggled to carry both suitcases and a duffle bag into his apartment.

"So, " Cooper huffed, "how long are you— _Jesus Christ, what did you pack_?— how long are you staying?"

Blaine shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I guess until Dad decides I'm not useful here anymore."

Cooper somehow managed to pull the luggage over the threshold and shove it against the wall. He let out a whoosh of breath, then collapsed on the floor. "You couldn't pay me to be up this early every day," he groaned, dramatically wiping invisible sweat off of his forehead. He looked up at Blaine, who was still standing awkwardly by the open door, unsure of what to do with himself. "Well, close the door and sit down," he ordered, patting the ground next to him.

"On the floor?"

"Oh, come on." Cooper glared at him. "Are you really such a high and mighty lawyer that you can't share a bit of floor with your oldest and dearest brother?"

"One, I'm not a lawyer. I'm a consultant. Two, you're my _only_ brother," Blaine pointed out.

"All the more reason to do some quality, criss-cross-applesauce bonding with me." Cooper narrowed his eyes at Blaine, his mouth a pathetic pout. "Saturdays are for sitting. And for not wearing pants. You've already broken one of those rules." His eyes stared accusingly at Blaine's suit.

"I have a meeting to go to soon," Blaine explained. "I don't want to ruin my suit..."

Cooper snorted, but allowed Blaine to sit on the sofa without mocking him any further. "So, suits and meetings. What is it exactly that you're doing here?"

"Dad wants me to supervise the set-up of the New York branch," Blaine said. "Make sure it gets on its feet, runs smoothly. Things like that."

"Sounds _fascinating_," Cooper said, his eyebrows raised.

Blaine frowned. "It is, actually. I've really had a lot of... fun... working on the, uh..." He stopped, meeting Cooper's eyes defensively before letting out a sigh. "Okay, no, it sucks. But that's what I do now. Can't be helped."

"At least Dad's trusting you with a lot of responsibility," Cooper commented, obviously trying to lighten Blaine's mood. "He wouldn't let me near the business with a hundred-foot pole."

Blaine laughed. "Yeah, right. He hasn't wasted any time telling me how much more suited you would be to the job— and you haven't even been trained to do it. He hasn't trusted me with anything. I'm basically a glorified babysitter. They don't really need me. I think it was Mom's idea to send me here. She probably thought it would make me happy."

Cooper looked sharply at Blaine, but didn't say anything. He stood up and crossed to the suitcases lined against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the straps for a moment before he finally turned back to Blaine. "How long do you think you'll be babysitting? I'd take a guess based on your amount of luggage, but I'm sure it's fifty percent bowties."

Blaine ignored the jibe. "Maybe a year. Maybe more, maybe less. It's all up to him."

Cooper nodded, then glanced at his watch. "Well, since I'm up, I think I'm going to head over to the restaurant. I've got some stuff to take care of. You want to tag along?"

Blaine stood up and nodded, eager to visit the restaurant again. Then he remembered the suit he wore and all that it entailed. "No, I can't," he said, disappointed. "I have to head over to the firm in an hour."

"Well, why not stop by for the dinner shift tonight? I bet Santana would love to see you again. Maybe you can even wait a few tables. You know—" He ran his eyes over Blaine's figure, critically encompassing the gel in his hair and the suit. "—for old times' sake."

"That sounds great," Blaine said. And really, it did. As much as New York was his home, he felt slightly out of place. Maybe it was just being away for a year. He had changed. All he wanted was for life to return to what it had been before. Maybe going back to _Cooper's _and going through the old motions would help.

"Hey, did you bring your guitar?" Cooper asked, his eyes brightening. "I haven't heard you perform in awhile! Maybe next Saturday, you can—"

Blaine was shaking his head before Cooper even finished. "I don't think so."

"What?"

"I didn't bring my guitar," Blaine said. "And anyway, I think I've outgrown that sort of thing."

"_That sort of thing_," Cooper repeated incredulously. "You love music! You love performing!"

"Loved," Blaine corrected. "Past-tense, Coop. That was fun when I was younger, but it's way past time for me to grow up."

Cooper stared at him so long that Blaine felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"_What_?"

Cooper bit his lip, then tugged Blaine toward him and enveloped him in a hug. Blaine tried to pull away after a moment, but Cooper refused to let go.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Blaine asked, allowing his arms to fall to the side as Cooper maintained the one-sided embrace.

"Nothing. I just miss you."

"You mean you _missed_ me, Coop. Past-tense, remember? I'm right here."

Cooper shook his head where it rested near Blaine's, muttering something that was too muffled against the close contact for Blaine to make out. A second later, Cooper grimaced and pushed Blaine away.

"_Blech_." He shook his head again, this time in disgust. "I think my tongue is burning in agony, but I can't tell, because it's going numb now." He stuck out his tongue and scrubbed at it with his fingers. "What's with the gel? I haven't seen you use this much product in your hair since high school."

Blaine glanced away. "Dad wants me to look the part."

Cooper reached out an arm as if to put it on Blaine's shoulder, but halfway there, he dropped it back to his side. "Come on," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I'll give you a ride to your meeting. But you're coming back here before you come to _Cooper's_. I don't want you dripping gel in people's food."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Deal."

"Let's go, then."

Blaine checked to make sure his suit wasn't wrinkled before following Cooper out of the apartment.

Rachel sat down in the chair across from Jesse and smiled widely at him. For some reason, he didn't return the smile. Instead, he looked around him, his eyes shifty and distant.

"What's wrong?" She covered his hand with hers, prompting him to look at her.

"I thought you said we couldn't eat here because Kurt comes here a lot."

Rachel shook her head, her smile returning. She thought it had been something _important_. "No, we're fine. I have it on good authority that Kurt doesn't come to _Cooper's_ anymore. For some reason, the owner hates him," she laughed. "He really—"

"Are you embarrassed by me?" Jesse suddenly asked, his eyes darker under _Cooper's_ dim lighting.

"What?" Rachel asked, aghast. "Of course not! Why would you even say that?"

Jesse raised his eyebrows. "If you're not embarrassed, then why are we still sneaking around? It's been a year, Rachel, but you're still acting like you'll be ruined if anyone sees us together."

"No, it's not like that," she hurried to say. "I love you, Jesse. You know I do." She tried to tighten her fingers around his hand, but he pulled away from her grasp.

"Then why all the secrecy?" he persisted, frowning.

"I—" Rachel stopped, sighed. "I don't know. I just... I don't think Kurt would understand. I don't want him to judge me for— well, for dating you. Again."

"Because of high school?" Jesse fixed his gaze on her, his eyes serious. "We're all different people now, Rach. Things changed."

"I know," Rachel said, nodding slowly, "but—"

"Can I start you two out with something to drink?"

Rachel stopped mid-sentence and turned to see a waiter holding a menu pad and staring at them expectantly with startlingly familiar hazel eyes. She _knew_ this guy. His hair was a bit longer than when she had seen him at auditions, but she knew those eyes. She stared, shocked, watching those eyes light up first with recognition and then with the frozen gaze of a deer in headlights. "_Blaine_?" she asked, astonishment underlining her voice.

"Rachel?" he breathed out, his words shaky as they left him.

"You two know each other?" Jesse glanced warily between them, but Rachel had other concerns besides reassuring her boyfriend.

"How many Blaines does Cooper _employ_?" Rachel asked, her words running over Blaine's repeated, "Anything to drink?"

An awkward pause settled over them, muting them both, until Jesse broke it. "I'd like an ice tea," he offered up. "But hold the ice, please."

Blaine ignored him, choosing instead to look at Rachel with daggers in his eyes. "I'm surprised Kurt didn't tell you that I work here," Blaine said coldly. "I figured you two would have had a nice little laugh about me."

Rachel blinked. "What are you talking about?" She wasn't used to seeing Blaine looking so antagonistic. Granted, she had only met him once, but he had been so friendly and sweet back then. Maybe there was some truth to Kurt's recounted tale of their date and what a jerk Blaine had been.

"Can somebody please explain what's going on?" Jesse asked, his voice particularly loud compared to the hushed tones of Rachel and Blaine. "Or at least get me an iced tea?"

Rachel looked at Blaine helplessly, but he was staring down at his menu pad with a stormy expression on his face. "He went on a date with Kurt a long time ago," she explained to Jesse. "It didn't go very—"

"He stood me up!" Blaine interrupted, his voice raised and prickling. "If that's what you mean by _it didn't go very well_. Was that the plan? He sends you in to collect guys for him, and he picks whichever one he wants and abandons the others?"

"_What_?" Rachel shook her head, provoked by Blaine's accusing tone. "He didn't abandon you! He told me all about his date with—"

"I waited for an hour, Rachel. Then I saw him eating with some other guy. I didn't realize the guy I saw was Kurt until later, but now I know. And then he comes back here and— and he thinks he can just—" Blaine stopped, his face flushed.

"Seriously, what's going on?" Jesse asked irritably. "Rachel?"

"Jesse—" Rachel started, exasperated.

"Everything okay here?"

Rachel looked back up, where a waitress had materialized next to Blaine and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Berry?" The waitress fixed her eyes on Rachel, her mouth opening in a small 'o.'

"Santana!" Rachel breathed, relieved. Maybe she could clear things up.

"You know her?" Blaine asked Santana, looking as if he had been betrayed.

"Do you know _everyone _who works here?" Jesse asked, looking between Rachel, Blaine, and Santana.

Rachel ignored him. "Santana, you were here when Kurt had dinner with Blaine, right?" She looked at Santana imploringly. "Tell him!"

"No," Blaine said before Santana could respond, "tell _her_ how long I waited for Kurt to show up!"

Santana glanced between Blaine and Rachel, her brow furrowed in confusion. She worried at her lower lip for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I think I know how to get to the bottom of this."

"Can I _please_ get an iced tea?" Jesse asked.

Kurt took a moment to stretch, lifting his arms up and behind his head until he felt a satisfying tug in his back. After shaking his torso a bit, he leaned back over his desk and brought his pencil back down to caress paper. This was one of his favorite parts of working on _Wicked_. He loved doing character sketches for the outfits. There was something extremely satisfying in being trusted by _Susan Hilferty _to create outfits. Even more satisfying was the process of creating something from his own mind and watching the creations slowly unfold from his imagination and into something tangible in the costume department. Susan was surprisingly open to his ideas; he had assumed that she would take over most aspects, seeing as she had worked on _Wicked_ before, but instead, she was giving him a lot of room to try out his designing wings.

He was working on one of Elphaba's intial drab costumes now. He had to work on Elphaba whenever Rachel went out. He had learned from experience that she had an uncanny ability to sense when he was working on _Wicked_ and would stand over his shoulder while he did Elphaba, insisting that he add some Rachel Berry flare to it. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the part would probably go to a more established Broadway talent. The auditions were opening up on Tuesday, and they were all she had been talking about for months. Anyway, there was no harm in letting Rachel dream a bit.

Kurt filled in the shading on Elphaba's dress with his pencil, allowing his thoughts to wander as he did so. He hadn't realized how much work went into simply _planning_ to put on a musical. It had been fun, yes, but he was itching to actually start things. He was there for Costume Design, of course, but his high school dreams of becoming a Broadway star kept resurfacing, keeping him interested in every aspect of the process of putting on a show.

Finally, after a year of ceaseless working, they were ready to start casting. He didn't know many of the production crew yet, since his work had been planted firmly in the Costume Department, but working with Susan was a dream. It had taken him awhile to feel comfortable speaking his mind without filtering his words, but now that he had, they had an easy rapport between them. He had learned more working under Susan than he had throughout the entirety of his college career.

Kurt's work and thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone, the first sound other than the scratching of his pencil against his sketch pad that he had heard since Rachel left earlier.

He picked up his cell and glanced at the screen. It was Rachel. _That's weird_. He hadn't expected for her to call him. She had said she would be out late, probably on a date with James.

Kurt hit the accept button and held his phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice was flustered and excited. He heard the muffled sounds of chatter in the background; she was probably out at dinner.

"Who else?" Kurt tapped his pencil against his desk impatiently. "Listen, Rachel, if this is about the auditions again, I'm going to kill you. I already told you—"

"No, no, I have a question," Rachel said quickly.

"I'm kind of busy, Rach," Kurt replied, glancing at the papers on his desk.

"It'll only take a second," she promised.

"Fine. Shoot."

"Remember when you went on a date with that guy I set you up with?"

"How could I forget?" He pursed his lips, remembering the unpleasant night of over a year ago.

"Okay, I need you to describe that guy for me," she said.

Kurt frowned. "Why?"

"Just do it!"

He sighed. He hated when Rachel got into one of her frequent bossy moods. The best thing to do in these situations was whatever she asked. "Well, there's not much more to say than what I did before. He was kind of sleazy. A jerk. Really pushy with the compliments and innuendos. Um..."

"His looks, Kurt!" Rachel said, her voice getting higher-pitched with her agitation.

"Oh. Okay," Kurt muttered, resisting the urge to demand that Rachel tell him what was going on. "He had kind of longish brown hair and these deceivingly trustworthy, big brown eyes. Um... I don't really remember much else."

"That's okay," Rachel said, her tone filled with what sounded like triumph, though Kurt couldn't imagine why that would be. "Okay, now I need you to describe the Blaine you kissed."

"Rachel—" Kurt started, fed up with her inexplicable insistence.

"Please, Kurt."

He shook his head in exasperation, forgetting that she couldn't see him. "Well," he began, finding it much easier to conjure up the image of the man he had obsessed over for a brief period of time, "he was really, really cute."

"Specifics, Kurt," Rachel reminded him.

"I'm getting there, Rachel," he said, mocking her tone. "I mean, he was really cute, but it wasn't the first thing you noticed about him, you know? He's a bit on the shorter side, but it's the way that he carries himself that catches your attention. It's like he doesn't think much of himself, but all you have to do is look at him and you know he's something special." Kurt got lost in the memory, forgetting that Rachel was on the other line. All he could see was Blaine. "He has this adorable laugh that kind of... bursts out of him, like his body finds things funny before his brain does. His hair is really curly— not like how it was in high school, all gelled down. It looks so soft. I wanted to run my fingers through it. And— his eyes. His eyes were... beautiful. Green, with little flecks of gold in them. You could get lost in those eyes..."

Rachel was silent on the other line, and Kurt came back to himself with a small cough. "That's, um... that's it," he finished, embarrassed.

"_Oh_," Rachel breathed, sounding as awed as if she had had a revelation. "I have to go, Kurt! I'll talk to you later."

"Wait, why—"

He heard a click and then a long dial tone. She had hung up on him. _What was that about_? he wondered, perplexed.

With a shrug, he picked up his sketch pad again and resumed his work.

"So, there must have been a mix-up," Rachel explained, smiling.

Santana had left to cover her tables and the two tables that Blaine had been working on. Jesse was nursing an iced tea and looking bored. Rachel was looking up at Blaine with shining, hopeful eyes, but he didn't feel nearly as enthused as she looked. What did all of this mean for him, and for Kurt?

"You're saying some random guy just... intercepted my date with Kurt?" he asked, skeptical. Why would someone do that? How could they have allowed that to happen?

"It sounds weird," Rachel admitted. "But it's the only explanation! I _knew_ something was up when Kurt told me about his date. I mean, you seemed really nice when I met you, so it didn't make sense when Kurt said the guy he went on a date with was a jerk." She looked so desperate for him to believe her that he couldn't help but trust her words.

"So neither of us realized that we were supposed to meet each other before," Blaine mused, mostly to himself.

"Exactly." Rachel nodded. "It was just a huge mistake."

Blaine didn't say anything. Instead, he stayed quiet, processing the information. He and Kurt were supposed to go on a date, set up by Rachel. Instead, Kurt had ended up dating a guy he had thought was Blaine, while the actual Blaine had been left alone, thinking he had been stood up. They had finally met each other at Cooper's, and liked each other, but neither of them had realized who the other truly was. And now, a year later, Blaine happened to run into the very girl who had set them up. It was enough to make his head hurt.

"You have to believe me," Rachel was saying. "I know Kurt. He would never stand anyone up. And you should have heard the way he was talking about you just now. I think he still has feelings for you." She slapped her hand over her mouth and winced. "But you didn't hear that from me. He'd kill me if he knew I just said that."

Blaine nodded, still preoccupied.

"So you believe me?" Rachel asked.

"I— yes," Blaine said slowly. "As bizarre as this all is, I believe you."

Rachel clapped her hands excitedly. "This is great! I can't wait to explain all of this to Kurt! You two can finally meet like you were supposed to, and go on a real date, and... why are you shaking her head?" she asked, trailing off in confusion.

"I can't— we can't— I need you to keep this a secret," Blaine told her, conflicted. He wanted to see Kurt again. He really, really wanted to. But he knew he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. Not yet. _Not now._

"Why?" Rachel had such a wounded look on her face, you would think he was breaking up with her.

"I just... I need to sort through some things. It's complicated," Blaine said evasively. "Please promise me you won't tell him who I am, or mention anything about what happened last year."

Rachel looked unconvinced, but she nodded nevertheless. She looked down at her menu, then back up at Blaine, brightening up. "Well, you should take down my number! And Kurt's, too. Just in case you change your mind," she said officiously. She waited until Blaine had his pen poised over the menu pad, then recited both numbers for him.

Blaine took them down dutifully, but he doubted he would be calling either number any time soon.

"Are you staying in New York?" Rachel asked, thankfully changing the subject.

"Yeah, for awhile," Blaine said.

Rachel picked up her purse and began rifling through it. "I know it's in here somewhere," she murmured as she fished around inside of it. "Oh!" She pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Blaine.

"What is it?" he asked, taking it from her.

"A flyer for _Wicked_," she said, looking pleased with herself.

He unfolded the paper and saw the familiar logo of Elphaba and Glinda spread over it.

"Auditions are Tuesday," Rachel told him. "You _have_ to audition! I haven't heard you sing since Sectionals in high school, but you were great then. And from what I heard from Kurt, you're even more amazing now."

"I'm... I'm flattered, really, but I don't sing anymore," Blaine said, holding the flyer back out to her.

She shook her head, refusing to take it. "Keep it. You might change your mind. Nobody who sings like you did ever truly stops singing. It's in your blood."

Blaine thought this was a bit pretentious of her to assume, this being the longest conversation they'd had since they had met a year ago, but he accepted the flyer anyway and shoved it in his pocket just to be polite. He knew he wouldn't be auditioning, though; he had his priorities now, as his father reminded him daily. He had the firm now. He didn't need to sing.

Jesse sat up and pushed his iced tea to the front of the table. "Can we order now?" he asked grumpily.

Blaine took down their order, but his mind was completely occupied on someone else.

_Kurt Hummel._


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this. It's my first multi-chaptered Klaine fic, so your input and enthusiasm means the world to me. :) Thanks for having patience with me and our two boys.**

**The song that Blaine sings in this chapter is Gravity, by Asher Book.**

* * *

><p>"Finished!" Kurt announced, throwing his pencil down and stretching luxuriously. He looked down at his sketch pad, tilting his head as he tried to consider the work from an objective point-of-view. He thought it was pretty good. A good start, at least. It would probably be even better if he could match outfits to bodies, but until they casted <em>Wicked<em>, these preliminary sketches were as good as they would get.

"Finished?" Rachel peeked her head in his room from the hallway.

Kurt nodded, a lazy smile on his face. He was glad he had finished the character sketches by Friday; now he could relax, for the first weekend in _months_. The prospect was glorious.

Rachel fully entered the room, casually sauntering over to his desk. "Who were you working on?"

"Fiyero," Kurt told her, gathering up the said sketch and tucking it into his folder. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. "And no, you can't see it."

Rachel seemed to take this in stride, a familiar fervor lighting her eyes. "Fiyero is such an important character, as the love interest. He really has to mesh perfectly with m— with Elphaba." She paused, her eyes flicking back to the folder still in Kurt's hand, her expression itching with unsatisfied curiosity. "Maybe I could just take a little peek at Elphaba's—"

"No," Kurt said firmly, laughing a bit as he pulled the folder out of Rachel's reach and stuck it into his briefcase. "You know the rules. They'll kill me if I show anyone any of this stuff."

"Fine." Rachel pouted, then jutted her jaw out obstinately. "But when I get Elphaba, you have to promise you'll listen to my ideas. I think early Elphaba would look _superb _with an animal-print sweater..."

"We'll see," Kurt said, suppressing a smile. Some things never changed. He was glad Rachel was still her irrepressible self. She had been acting weird all week, shooting him furtive glances when she thought he wasn't looking and refusing to explain what her phone call on Monday had been about. Kurt had bigger things to worry about, so he hadn't spared it all too much thought, but he had to wonder what was going on. Hopefully she wasn't pregnant or something. Rachel was crazy enough without added hormones.

"So," Rachel began, giving him a significant look, "what are your plans for the rest of tonight?"

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was just going to stay home and watch a movie or something." _God, my life is pathetic_. So much for his high school dreams of moving to New York and magically gaining a riveting social life. He didn't even have any real friends other than Rachel, unless Santana counted, and she had been so busy with work that he'd hardly seen her over the past year. Maybe he should spend more time on the whole making-friends thing.

Rachel was still giving him a _look_, and Kurt realized she probably had something planned. "Why? Did you want to do something?"

"Well, yes," Rachel said, biting her lip. "But not with you."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Wow, okay."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" Rachel hurried to say. "I just meant... look, why don't you pop into _Cooper's_ for awhile?"

"Because I don't want to go to _Cooper's _and because Cooper kind-of-sort-of-really hates my guts for some indiscernible reason?" Kurt looked at her like she was crazy, and really, she _was_. He hadn't stepped foot into _Cooper's _since the incident the year before. No way he was doing it tonight.

"He doesn't _hate _you," Rachel protested.

Kurt stared at her.

"Okay, fine," Rachel relented. "Fine, yes, he hates you. But it's not like he's a waiter. He'll be in the back. He won't even know you're there."

"Why are you so intent on me going to _Cooper's_?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

Rachel blushed, the color standing out vividly on her pale skin. "I wanted to invite James over."

Kurt nodded, uncomprehending.

"_Here_," Rachel stressed. "He would be coming _here_."

"Right," Kurt said, still not understanding. "And I have to go to _Cooper's _because...?"

"Because— because— well, because we want you to check out the live performance!" Rachel stammered. "I think I heard that they got a new band, and James and I want to know if they're any good."

"Here's an idea," Kurt said slowly. "Why don't _you and James _go see if the band's any good, since it's _you and James _who care?"

"Oh, come on, Kurt," Rachel pleaded. "You're a better judge than we are. I mean, your musical taste is impeccable!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's true, but flattery is not going to work on me. And you can stop with the puppy eyes, too, I'm pretty immune to them. Just tell me why you want me out of here so badly."

"I _told _you," Rachel said, looking weary. "I'm bringing James here and we'd like some privacy."

"I can stay in my room," Kurt said, bewildered. "It's not a problem, I won't eve—"

"I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH MY BOYFRIEND!" Rachel shouted, her eyes wild.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Oh," Kurt finally said, his voice small.

"Yes," Rachel breathed.

"Okay, well..." Kurt trailed off, not sure how to handle the situation. Somehow, during the past six years of living together, they had managed to avoid the awkwardness of this particular circumstance. Kurt wished the Earth would open up and swallow him down, or that he could melt like the Wicked Witch. Anything to get out of this mess.

"So, if you could just..." Rachel muttered.

"Yeah, I— I'll just leave for..." Kurt stammered, his words overlapping with Rachel's.

They both stopped talking, waited for the other to speak, then laughed uncomfortably.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Just text me or call me when you're, um, done. Or whatever."

"Sure. Thanks," Rachel said, refusing to meet his eyes and instead staring fixedly at Kurt's ceiling fan.

"I should get going," Kurt murmured. He stood up, grabbed a light sweater from his closet in case it got chilly outside, and stopped in front of Rachel on his way to the door. "Have fun," he told her. She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Kurt hurried out of his room. The faster he could leave the awkwardness of the apartment, the better he would feel.

"Wait!"

Kurt turned around to face Rachel halfheartedly. "Yes?"

"Where are you going to go?" Rachel asked.

"I'm not that hungry. I think I might take a walk in Central Park and pick up a hotdog or something on the way home. Don't worry," he added, at the panicked look Rachel wore, "I won't come back until you tell me to.

"No," Rachel said quickly. "You _have _to go to _Cooper's_! Remember? We need you to scope out the band!"

"Rachel—" Kurt started to say, exasperated by her pickiness.

"You can't just walk around Central Park for hours," Rachel insisted.

"_Hours_? What are you guys doing, holding a marathon?" Kurt asked incredulously.

"Please, Kurt. I'd feel so much better knowing you were safe. At _Cooper's_."

Kurt studied her, his eyes narrowed. Something was definitely going on, and he had a feeling it had nothing to do with her boyfriend. What was she hiding? Kurt thought he had a right to be suspicious, but Rachel looked so sincere and concerned that he decided he would press her for answers later. Maybe she'd be more willing to tell the truth after loosening up a bit.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll go to _Cooper's_."

Rachel squealed, then threw her arms around Kurt. "Thank you, thank you!" She pulled back and looked at Kurt seriously, her hands on his shoulders. "You know I love you and want you to be happy, right? And that I would never do anything that I thought would hurt you?"

"Okay, crazy lady." Kurt laughed and peeled Rachel off of him. "I'm leaving before you start singing to me. I'll see you later tonight, okay? Please don't forget to let me know when my home is safe to inhabit again."

"I will!" Rachel said happily. "Have a good time, okay, Kurt?"

"Will do." Kurt opened the front door. "Oh, and stay out of my room and the kitchen," he added. He laughed at the indignant "_Kurt!" _that followed him out the door and into the evening.

The sky was beautiful, a dusky blue smeared with clouds and shot through with a lovely scarlet from the setting sun. It was the type of sunset that couples remarked on as they headed out, lost in the embrace of each other and the gentle caress of the evening breeze.

_All this beauty, and no one to share it with_. Kurt looked at the sky wistfully for a moment, then shook his head and continued walking toward _Cooper's _instead of taking the car. If he couldn't share the night, he would at least enjoy it.

* * *

><p>It was a Friday night, and Kurt's world was flipped onto its side, flopping like a fish out of water as it struggled to adapt.<p>

Because Kurt had walked into _Cooper's, _and on the stage was a person he had honestly never expected to see again.

_Blaine._

It took all of his willpower to keep walking, to convince his feet and brain that flight was not an option.

Kurt murmured excuses to inquiring waiters, his body on autopilot. He kept walking— no, not walking, that would imply normalcy and this was a dream, could only _be _a dream— he _glided _toward the front of the room, gravitating to the seats directly in front of the stage, where he collapsed into a chair and fixed his eyes on Blaine.

Blaine, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to Kurt's presence. He stood on the stage, tuning his guitar like he had the last time Kurt had seen him, but he looked different now. Not just the way his hair was gelled down, like it had been in high school, but the way he held himself. His back was ramrod-straight, his expression guarded. Before, when Kurt had watched him perform, Blaine had looked so _alive_. Now he looked like a wounded animal who had been pressed back against a corner. Kurt felt an irrational anger, a need to punish whoever had done that to Blaine.

_You hardly know him_, he reminded himself. He told himself to shut up, choosing instead to focus on Blaine again.

Blaine took much longer than usual to tune, and he stumbled through one of the popular songs that was currently being overplayed on the radio, but despite his imperfections— maybe _because_ of them— he seemed so _real _to Kurt.

He went through his set, taking longer to transition between songs and find the right key than he ever had before. He held the guitar like he was relearning it, a stark contrast to the extension of his body that it had seemed to be the year before. Yes, Blaine had changed. And Kurt believed that he himself had changed, too.

Kurt had thought about Blaine often, daily, in the days following his departure to California. Then, as time had continued to tick on, unforgiving, thoughts of Blaine had dwindled like the leaves on the trees in Central Park during October. Eventually, Blaine became a memory that resurfaced only in the drifting moments between sleep and consciousness, when his walls were down and his priorities muddled. He had thought of Blaine recently, of course, after the subject had been brought up by Rachel, but he had felt somewhat disconnected from the memory, as if it were someone else and not Kurt who had spent his birthday with Blaine.

But now, as he sat in _Cooper's_, surrounded by an unfocused bumble of chatter, everything rushed back. The memory of Blaine overtook Kurt, overwhelming his senses and stealing air from his lungs. There was something powerful about being in his presence, something that triggered his memory and evoked the same feelings he had had that night.

_The heady intoxication of Blaine's breath ghosting over his lips._

Kurt didn't care.

_The upturned smile he could feel against his mouth._

Kurt had been drunk. There was no way the memory was even accurate.

_The way Blaine's eyes had glowed, like all the best of Autumn days melted into liquid fire._

No. _No_.

He didn't need this. He _did not_ need this. He didn't need to fall back into the past. He needed to look ahead, he needed to keep going, he needed to stand up and walk out of _Cooper's _without looking back.

But he didn't do any of this. Instead, he stayed in his seat, unable to find his legs, unable to do anything but sit and watch helplessly as Blaine abandoned his guitar and walked over to the piano onstage. He slid onto the seat and touched a few keys softly with his fingers, as if he were greeting an old friend. Then, without playing any practice scales or hesitating for even a moment, Blaine launched into the opening notes of a song that sounded strangely familiar to Kurt.

Blaine started the chorus uncertainly, his voice soft and tentative. The song seemed perfect for him, made for him, as he floated from one word to the next, his fingers running effortlessly over the ivories as they sent out a simple refrain.

_Am I brave enough to cross that line_

_and come undone through your space and mind?_

Blaine seemed to become less tense and more sure of himself as he continued the next verse and returned to the chorus. His voice was smooth, his expression light and free. This was the Blaine that Kurt remembered.

_It's not impossible to find a way_

_to hold and stay with gravity._

As Kurt watched him, he thought that this was perhaps the most beautiful man that he had ever seen, that he _would _ever see. He wanted to forget everything, forget work and Rachel and obligations, and just stay in this world forever, a world where he could sit and listen to Blaine sing and see the little things he did when he thought no one was paying attention to him— the way he'd dart his hand up during notes to scratch his nose, the way he closed his eyes on drawn-out words, the way he moved his head up and down to match the rhythm of thelyrics. Kurt wanted to be the only one to notice these things about Blaine.

And those were dangerous thoughts to have.

This was too much. He had to leave. Coming here was a stupid idea, and staying would be an even worse idea. He had to leave. _Now_.

_Will you look inside?_

_Don't wait too long,_

_don't hold your breath._

_Just carry on and make this world alive._

Kurt forced himself to stand up from his seat and turn away from the stage, but as soon as he rose, Blaine glanced up from the piano and straight at Kurt. His fingers slipped and he stumbled over a chord, but to his credit, he continued playing.

Kurt felt as if the world had frozen around him. He saw the diners around him eating, chatting thoughtlessly with each other, but they were nothing to him. There was only him, and Blaine, and the song, Blaine's voice shaky as he continued it, his eyes locked on Kurt's.

_Don't let it go, don't lock it up._

_I'm falling with your gravity._

Kurt kept staring at Blaine, rendered immobile by his gaze. There was nothing he could do. He was lost now. There would be no choices involved. He couldn't walk away from those eyes.

Kurt sat back down because his legs were shaking. He watched mutely as Blaine finished the song and walked offstage to minimal applause. He couldn't have been finished with his set yet, but he was gone.

Kurt considered that this may be the perfect moment to make his escape, to leave while he had a chance, to carry on. Unbidden, a line from a T.S. Eliot poem he had read years ago in college sprang to the forefront of his mind. _Do I dare disturb the universe? _Did he dare? He didn't feel as if he had a choice in the matter. His universe was already in tumult.

Before he could even muster up the courage and strength of limbs to leave, Blaine reentered the dining area, sans guitar, looking pale and wary as he approached Kurt. Kurt just looked at him, but Blaine said nothing. He sat down in the chair next to Kurt, not close enough to touch him, and they both stared at the empty stage for a minute.

It was, Kurt thought, the most awkward minute of his life.

Blaine finally broke the strain. "Hi," he said, quietly, his voice controlled as he continued to stare at the stage. It was like he didn't trust himself to look at Kurt. Or was that how Kurt felt in regards to looking at Blaine? He didn't know. Nothing made sense any more.

"Hi," Kurt said, equally quiet, equally cautious. He felt they were on uncertain grounds, but he wasn't sure why that was. "You— you remember me?"

Blaine laughed then, a low chuckle, and Kurt felt himself flush red. _Obviously_ Blaine remembered him, he wouldn't have just come out here and sat next to him for no reason. But Blaine didn't make fun of him, just nodded. "Oh yeah." The way he said it made Kurt unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

There was a pause, the beginning of another awkward silence that Kurt scrambled to cover with words. "So, the singing— the song— I mean, you sounded... really good."

"Thanks," Blaine said, looking unconvinced.

"No, really!" Kurt said earnestly. "That song was perfect for your voice. Your, um... your tone. It was good." _Your tone was good? _What was wrong with him?

Blaine gave a tiny smile. "Thanks," he said again, but this time like he meant it. "I love that song. Asher Book is great."

Kurt's brain clicked, and he remembered where he had heard the song. "Fame, right? I've only seen it once, but I remember that song sticking in my mind for some reason."

Blaine nodded. "It's one of my favorites."

"It's good to see you're still singing. It's been awhile since the last time I heard you," Kurt ventured to say, easing into the first mention of anything substantial. He wanted to ask what Blaine was doing back in California, why Cooper hated Kurt so much, why Blaine had left without telling him. But he knew he would be overstepping boundaries. He felt a strange connection to Blaine, a strange pull that made him feel as if they knew each other even though they were virtually strangers, but he wasn't sure how Blaine viewed him. At best, with friendliness. At the moment, with what seemed to be caution.

"I don't really sing much. Not... not anymore," Blaine said, still looking at the stage. "I don't— my brother, he owns this restaurant? He kind of forced me to sing in return for rent, but I think I'd rather pay the rent. I shouldn't be— I can't be singing anymore." He opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear this."

"No," Kurt said softly. "No, I do."

Blaine pursed his lips, but didn't say anything more.

Kurt waited patiently for Blaine to continue, but he seemed unwilling or unable to.

"Why are you here?" Kurt asked him, careful to look anywhere but directly at Blaine. _Now _he was overstepping boundaries, because that question was more than just an inquiry as to whether he was here for personal or business reasons. That question was _Why are you singing if you shouldn't be? _That question was _Why are you sitting here, right now, next to me? _That question was _Why won't you look at me? _And, more than anything, that question was _What does this mean?_

Blaine didn't speak immediately, and Kurt worried he had asked too much, but finally Blaine said, his voice careful, "To prove something to myself."

"Did you?" Kurt asked, turning his head fully to look at Blaine.

Blaine looked back at him, his eyes a dark green in the darkness of the room. "I still am."

Sitting this close together, their faces were inches apart. It was an uncomfortable talking distance, and Kurt felt as if he should move back or turn his head, but he couldn't. For the second time that night, he was locked onto Blaine's eyes.

He watched as if he were in a dream, watched as Blaine's gaze languidly flicked down toward Kurt's lips, and Kurt felt his breath hitch in his throat as Blaine moved his head infinitesimally closer...

Blaine blinked then, and the moment was lost. He abruptly stood from his chair. "I've got to go," he muttered, and without even looking down at Kurt or waiting for a reply, he escaped into the kitchens, leaving a flustered and incomprehensibly disappointed Kurt behind.

* * *

><p>Kurt hadn't made it home for another hour that night. Instead, he had walked to Central Park and sat on a bench, reliving what had happened, going over it multiple times in his brain, trying to make sense of everything. When Rachel had finally called him and told him he could come home, he hadn't told her anything about his night, even though he was pretty positive that she had had a large part in the entire situation. She hadn't asked him about the live performer she had wanted him to investigate so badly, and he hadn't broached the topic for two reasons. One, he felt that talking about what had happened would somehow betray whatever strange <em>thing <em>he had with Blaine. Two, Rachel had enough on her mind what with the _Wicked _auditions.

On Tuesday morning, Kurt left early to head to the theater. Rachel, as one of the candidates, wasn't expected for another couple of hours, but Kurt wasn't sure that she would last that long. When he'd left her that morning, she had been chanting lyrics under her breath and looked as green as Elphaba.

_At least she won't need any makeup done if she gets the part, _Kurt thought wryly. He wasn't allowed to play favorites— he was lucky enough that he was even being allowed to sit in on the auditions— but he was rooting for Rachel, of course. After years in New York with no big break, she was running on desperation now. He hoped with all his being that she got the part, and not just because she would be inconsolable if she didn't.

Kurt kept himself busy as much as possible before the auditions started, but every moment he had a bit of downtime, images of Blaine would flit into his mind. It was quickly becoming an obsession. His problem was that he could never just _fall _for a guy— he always fell hard.

He was grateful when they were finally ready to begin the auditions. The song that Blaine had performed the night before was playing in a constant loop in his head, and he was eager to get it out.

They started with those auditioning for smaller parts. Person after person trailed onto the stage, all of their voices blurring in Kurt's mind. They were all good, though some were better than others. A few names stuck out in his head— Jonathan Moore, who was made to play Doctor Dillamond; Corey White, a new but talented actor who shone as Boq. He loved the people who immediately brought costume ideas into his head; they were the auditions who occupied his mind.

After hours of auditions, Kurt was beginning to feel exhausted. If one more person came out and said, "This is my dream role!" he was going to shoot himself. He _could _leave, he supposed, but he wanted to hold on for Rachel.

Just then, a harried assistant ran onstage to announce that, after a mix-up with the set audition times, Fiyero auditions would come after Glinda and Elphaba.

_One less person to sit through_. Kurt decided to leave after the Elphaba auditions. He didn't technically _have _to be there, and anyway, he was sitting in the back and could leave without disturbing anyone.

After a few blonde lookalikes with admittedly talented voices had finished auditioning for Glinda, it was finally time for Elphaba. Kurt settled back in his seat, completely focused now. He had to size up Rachel's competition.

The first girl was notable only because she was so terrible. She had stood still and stared straight at the wall as she inexplicably sang Dear Old Shiz.

After her, there were a slew of unremarkable girls. Kurt glanced at the casting director, who hadn't seemed thrilled by any of them, and felt a flutter of hope in his chest. This boded well for Rachel's chances, as long as she didn't choke. He didn't think she would, though— after all the practice she had been doing for the past couple of months, she could probably sing the song in her sleep.

At last, it was Rachel's turn. Kurt scooted up toward the edge of the seat, feeling much more nervous than she appeared to be. He hardly breathed at all while she sang, nervous that any movement on his part would somehow distract her, but her rendition of Defying Gravity was pitch-perfect. Watching her, Kurt could see how much she wanted this. She poured her essence into the performance, in typical Rachel Berry fashion. It was all Kurt could do to resist clapping wildly at the end.

After Rachel came one final candidate for Elphaba, a Broadway veteran named Laney Anderson. Her voice was amazing, and she really owned the stage, but it was Kurt's (completely unbiased) opinion that Rachel conveyed more of Elphaba's character. Still, she and Rachel were both amazing. The casting director would have a hard time deciding.

The assistant from before scurried back onstage. "We'll conclude with the Fiyero candidates!"

Kurt grabbed his satchel from where he had placed it near his feet, then stood up and stepped into the aisle. He should go find Rachel; she was probably overanalyzing and critiquing her performance. Maybe he would take her out to eat. Anywhere but _Cooper's_.

Kurt was only a few steps from the exit when he heard it.

"My name is Blaine Anderson, and I'm auditioning for Fiyero."


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! Sorry about the wait for this chapter. You can usually find updates or ask me questions over at my Tumblr, trinforthewin. :)

* * *

><p>My<em> name is Blaine Anderson.<em>

No.

—_Blaine Anderson, and—_

How?

_I'm auditioning for Fiyero._

Kurt didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to see what he knew was the truth, didn't want to face the confusion that was standing on a stage behind him. He knew that voice, and he knew that name, but they didn't match up. Maybe his brain was confused. Maybe not. But he couldn't turn around, because this wasn't happening. If he didn't turn, if he didn't admit what he already knew, then it couldn't be true.

"Kurt?"

Kurt looked up, blinking slowly until his vision cleared. Susan Hilferty was standing in front of him, concern etched over her face.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. Was he okay? He had no idea. He just didn't want to turn around. He didn't _like _not knowing why things were happening. If he just didn't turn around…

"Come on, let's sit you down." Susan wrapped her hand around Kurt's arm, squeezing him gently. He knew she meant to be a comforting presence, but instead she was the source of his confinement. He opened his mouth to tell her no, he didn't want to sit down, he just wanted to leave; but his voice refused to obey him. He didn't struggle as she led him back to his seat and took a seat next to him.

Kurt looked up at the stage instinctively, his eyes glued to the small man who was standing center stage, handing sheet music to the accompanist.

There was nothing for it. There was no way to deny the truth that was flaunting itself before his very eyes.

The Blaine that he had kissed, the Blaine who was _a_ _waiter a singer a Warbler a lawyer _and so many things besides… that Blaine was Blaine Anderson. That Blaine was standing on a stage in front of him, preparing to audition for _Wicked_, and his name was Blaine Anderson.

The more he repeated it to himself, the less it made sense. Because who, then, was the Blaine Anderson he had gone on a blind date with? Who had that been? They weren't the same people, obviously, but how was it possible that he had been in _Cooper's _with two guys with the same unusual name? But now that he thought about it, extraneous strands of information that he had overlooked before were floating in the forefront of his mind.

Rachel had been so shocked when Kurt had told him that the Blaine he had dated had been a total jerk. She had seemed suspicious even. She'd wondered why Blaine Anderson would act one way toward her, and then entirely different to Kurt. And then there was that weird phone call she had made just last Friday, interrogating him about both Blaines…

When Kurt had drinks with his Blaine, Blaine had mentioned that he was supposed to date a Kurt. What was it exactly that he had said? _I almost dated a Kurt_. He'd said that he had been stood up. What if... Was it _possible _that he had been the one to stand Blaine up?

No. No. He didn't understand what that would mean, what those implications led to. It was better to not think about them now, or he would go crazy trying to figure out what was happening.

Onstage, Blaine had just started singing. He had chosen to sing As Long As You're Mine, and he hit all the notes, but he was visibly nervous. He was staring slightly downward, like he wanted to disappear underground, and his voice was small and timid. He looked lost, like he had just walked outdoors that morning and found himself at a casting call with no recollection of the journey over.

Kurt had to wonder what he was doing here in the first place. How had he found out about this? On Friday, Blaine had given Kurt the impression that singing wasn't his passion anymore. Kurt could tell he'd been lying, but Blaine had been adamant about the fact that he was only singing because his brother had made him. What had caused the quick turnaround?

Kurt found his eyes trained on Blaine as he sang, trying mentally to encourage him to look up at the audience, to master the nerves that were occasionally shaking his voice. He wanted Blaine to succeed. He wanted to see Blaine smile like he had the year before; he wanted to see his eyes light up and that grin break over his face.

Blaine finished the song anticlimactically, and Kurt somehow knew, instinctively, that he hadn't gotten the part. Blaine nodded once, almost as if he was telling himself the very same thing, then said, "Thank you," and turned to exit the stage.

"Wait."

Kurt turned, surprised to see Susan standing up next to him, a calculating look brewing in her features.

The director, an easygoing man by the name of David Thorton, looked back, raising his eyebrows at Susan. "Yes?"

Susan didn't even spare him a glance. She was looking at Blaine, who had stopped halfway off the stage and was staring back at her, his eyes wide. Susan tilted her head slightly as she considered him, and then smiled. "Can you sing Dancing Through Life?"

Blaine nodded quickly, then glanced at the director as if he were looking for permission. Thorton shrugged, then turned and looked back at Susan, who ignored him in favor of giving Blaine an encouraging nod. She gestured for Blaine to take center stage again, then sat down and flashed a wink at Kurt, who could do nothing but turn back to the stage, bewildered.

Blaine didn't begin to sing immediately. Instead, he bent his head, almost as if he were praying. Now that he thought about it, Kurt realized he didn't know whether or not Blaine was religious. He added it to a mental list of things to ask Blaine when he got the chance.

Blaine took a few more seconds to himself, then nodded to the pianist and began singing, his voice quiet for the first verse, but gaining in intensity and strength the longer he sang. Kurt felt his hands unclenching from their fisted position on his lap as he sat back and enjoyed the song. Blaine's voice was smoother now, more relaxed. He moved around more than he had with the first song, adding in little pirouettes and impromptu sidesteps that made the director chuckle.

Kurt himself could only grin as he watched Blaine revert back to the expressive performances he gave as a Warbler. He looked younger like this, prancing around on the stage with a carefree abandon. It was amazing how different he was compared to the man who had sung just minutes before. This performance was infinitely better, despite Blaine messing up the lyrics a couple times. It was an observation that Kurt found was proving itself true every time he saw Blaine—the imperfections were what made Blaine who he was, and the fact that he persevered regardless of his mistakes gave him his charm.

Blaine finished his portion of the song and left the stage to a handful of applause—more applause, Kurt noted, than he usually got at _Cooper's_. It gave him hope that the directors, too, wanted Blaine to succeed. It was a natural quality of his. Just by existing, he made people root for him to end out on top. Kurt only hoped that was enough to get him the part.

Kurt turned to Susan, a grateful smile on his face. "Thank you," he said, trying to infuse the words with as much gratitude as possible. "For giving him a second chance."

Susan nodded and stretched her feet out in front of her. "Oh, no problem," she said, turning a mischievous grin on Kurt. "I could tell your boyfriend was pretty good already. He just needed some room to shine. You're lucky those fools down there—" and she pointed to Thornton and the producer, whose heads were bent together in what looked like an intense conversation— "know who has the brains around here."

Kurt's brain had only processed one word. "Boyfriend?" he squeaked. "No, it's not—he's not—Blaine and I don't really know each other all that well. We're not… boyfriends." He wasn't sure why the word was so difficult to say.

Susan raised her eyebrows, her lips turned upwards in a smirk. "No? Well, if you two aren't dating, you certainly have some unfinished business to work out."

Kurt shook his head and opened his mouth to deny it, but Susan continued before he had the chance.

"Look, Hummel," she said, her playful tone disappearing as quickly as her smile. "I know what it's like when you're young and talented and you meet a guy who's just as unique as you are. I've seen it a million times. But can I give you some advice?"

Kurt nodded mutely.

"Don't let it distract you." Susan stared at him for a second longer until he nodded again, color burning his cheeks. She nodded, too, seemingly satisfied, then turned her attention to the Mary Poppins' sized purse on her lap. She produced a sketchpad from somewhere deep within the bag and flipped to an empty page.

Kurt took this as his cue to leave. He stood up, not bothering to be discreet since there seemed to be a lull onstage while they waited for the next Fiyero audition.

"Oh!" Susan stopped her sketching and looked back up at Kurt like she had just remembered something.

Kurt paused, not sure whether he was being addressed or not. His boss had a habit of living in her own world but vocalizing her daydreams just to make sure they could be made a reality. Half the time, he wasn't even expected to respond. "Yes?"

Susan shook her head at him, a conspiratorial smile upon her face. "Remember how I told you not to let that boy distract you?"

"Yeah…?" Kurt wasn't sure what approach she was going for with this.

"Don't you dare give up on him." She appraised him, her eyes twinkling. "You look at him like he's the only one in your world. So don't you give up on him, and don't you give up on that feeling. Got it?"

Kurt nodded, his cheeks burning. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Now run along, Hummel," she told him, waggling her fingers and turning back to her sketchpad. "I believe there's a slightly hysterical young woman waiting for you outside of this room."

"Thanks, Susan," Kurt mumbled, feeling more than a little mortified his apparent transparency. He scurried out of the theater and almost bumped straight into Rachel, who was indeed waiting just outside and was indeed hysterical.

"Kurt!" She grasped him by the shoulders and gave what sounded like a cross between a giggle and a scream. "How did I do? Was I okay? I think I messed up the second verse— you heard it, didn't you? When the pianist started before me? I _told _him before that I wanted a measure of rest there to add to the dramatics of the scene, but he didn't listen." She paused to take a breath, an indignant look on her face. "And do you _know _what one of the other Elphaba hopefuls said to me right before I came out to audition? 'Don't choke.' Can you believe that? Just because she heard I've never been in a professional show before, she thinks she can look down on me. Well, I'll show her. I'll show all of them."

Rachel fell silent and stared off into the distance somewhere over Kurt's shoulder, her eyes narrowed in determination, so Kurt took the opportunity to grab her arm and lead her out of the theater. Neither of them needed to be there anymore. Rachel would start hyperventilating or go on the attack if she saw any other auditionees, and Kurt had no wish to see Blaine again until he knew the truth about who he really was.

Kurt decided to put off that particular order of business for that night. He didn't want to ruin Rachel's night, and anyway, she didn't seem very eager to discuss anything but her audition, her competition, and the rehearsal schedule she'd be facing when— _not _if, as she had promptly corrected Kurt, a fierce look on her face— she got the role.

So, it wasn't until the next night that he brought up the subject of Blaine. They were sprawled on the couch, their legs tangled together as they ate takeout Chinese food from the cheap place down the block and watched Moulin Rouge. Kurt picked up the remote control and paused the movie, chewing the food in his mouth languidly as he worked over how to begin. Maybe coming straight out with it was the best idea.

"Rach," he began, tucking his legs underneath him and turning to face her, "do you know who was at the audition yesterday?"

Rachel paled, her eyes wide. "Oh god… please tell me it wasn't anyone important. If they saw how badly I messed up—"

"You were fine," Kurt replied automatically, his voice having lost most of the sincerity it had been able to retain yesterday when she had repeatedly criticized her performance for two hours. "No, not anyone important. Well, I mean, not…" he trailed off.

"Who was it?" Rachel asked, a bit too impatiently, in Kurt's opinion, for a woman who had interrupted his work no less than twenty-three times the night before to ask him yet again if he thought she had done well.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt said, watching Rachel carefully to see her reaction to his words. He hadn't expected her to be surprised at the revelation, but it still hurt when she just looked at him, her expression guarded. He had been right. She _was _a part of whatever was going on.

"Really?" Rachel asked, her voice neutral. She looked down at her carton of food and poked holes in the Styrofoam container with her fork.

"Yes," Kurt said, glaring at her. "And don't say 'really' like you didn't know he was going to be there."

"I didn't!" Rachel protested, finally turning to look Kurt in the eye. "I swear I didn't! I mean, I invited him, but he acted like he wasn't going to come. I didn't even see him backstage."

"Wait, _you _invited him?" Kurt shook his head in frustration. "Explain everything."

Rachel opened her mouth, then stopped, looking conflicted.

"What?" Kurt demanded.

"I— I can't," Rachel said, looking at him apologetically.

"You can't," Kurt repeated flatly.

Rachel bit her lip. "I'm sorry. Oh, I _hate _this," she groaned.

"Rachel, you are about ten seconds away from finding a new roommate and best friend."

She sighed. "Kurt, I promised I wouldn't tell you."

Kurt fixed her with his best bitch-face. "You promised _who_?"

She hesitated, rubbing her eyes wearily and taking another bite of food. "Blaine Anderson," she told him, chewing around the food.

"Of course." Kurt looked up at the ceiling, hoping to find the answers written across in bold paint. But nothing was ever that easy. "So, you're keeping promises for Blaine Anderson, but you can hardly be bothered to keep plans with me for the past year?"

Rachel swallowed, looking stricken. "Kurt, please don't be mad. I would tell you if I could—

Kurt laughed, the sound entirely mirthless. "You _can _tell me, Rachel. Blaine's not holding a knife to your throat and forcing you to keep quiet. This is completely your choice. I just can't believe you're choosing to be loyal to a guy you just met, but you've been lying to your best friend since last year."

"I haven't been lying," Rachel said, her eyes shining with anticipatory tears. "I didn't even know who he was until last week! I just— I _promised_, Kurt. It's nothing bad, I swear. I just can't be the one to tell you."

Kurt ground his teeth, biting back words that he knew he would regret later if he allowed them to fly forth. He stood up from the couch abruptly, grabbing his abandoned food and moving to the kitchen to deposit it in the trash.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked from the couch, her voice small.

"My room," Kurt answered shortly, not even looking at her as he passed back into the living room on his way to his room. "I want to be by myself."

If Rachel answered, he didn't hear her. He had already made it to his room and closed the door, a little harder than he normally would have. He sat on the bed, fuming for a moment, then stood up and paced the length of his room, thinking. His mind was going around in circles. He didn't understand. He didn't understand what had happened with Blaine, and he didn't understand why Rachel was choosing a virtual stranger over him.

Kurt stopped in his tracks, a realization hitting him all at once. _He _didn't understand… but he knew someone who did, someone who, if his memory served him correctly, didn't hold up to things like loyalty as strictly as Rachel did. _Santana Lopez_. She was on the inside, she knew Blaine, she could tell him what the hell was happening.

Kurt dug his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts, thumbing the call icon next to Santana's name. He lay down on his bed, letting his feet dangle off the side. The phone rang only once before the call was picked up.

"Hummel," Santana answered, by way of a greeting.

"Santana," Kurt said, relieved. "You're not busy, are you?"

"Nope, you caught me at a good time. I've got the night off. You finally calling to collect on that coffee date we rain-checked?"

"Not this time," Kurt replied, feeling guilty about his completely selfish reasons for calling. He made a mental note to schedule coffee with Santana into his upcoming week.

"What is it, then?"

"What can you tell me about Blaine Anderson?"

There was such a long pause that Kurt checked to make sure she hadn't accidentally hit the 'end call' button.

"Anderson, huh?" she asked finally, her voice a prolonged sigh.

"He showed up at the _Wicked _auditions today," Kurt explained.

"Did he, now." It came out sounding more like a statement than a question, but Kurt hummed an affirmative anyway.

"So…" he prompted, after Santana remained silent for another moment.

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

Kurt sat up and reached over to his desk, animated now that he was finally getting somewhere with his questioning. "I'm ready," Kurt announced, the pen hovering poised over the paper.

"Let's hope _he_ is," Santana muttered drily. "Okay, take down this address."

She recited an unfamiliar address for him twice, making sure he had it down completely, then fell silent again.

"Is that… it?" Kurt asked uncertainly.

"That's Anderson's address," she informed him.

"Thank you, Santana."

"Now listen to me, Hummel," Santana said, adopting a voice Kurt recognized from high school, a voice that warned its recipients not to mess with her. "I'm doing this because we go way back, and because I think Blaine is going to screw up his chances at happiness if he doesn't get some outside guidance from Auntie 'Tana. But so help me, Kurt, if you tell him that you got that address from _me_, I will unleash all the rage I've kept pent up over the years, and I will go all Lima Heights Adjacent on your ass."

Kurt laughed. "Okay, Santana. I'll tell him a little bird gave it to me."

"Whatever," Santana huffed. "And promise me one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Make things right, okay?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. When had so many people become invested in his relationship- or lackthereof- with Blaine? "Yes, Santana."

"Good boy. Listen, there's a marathon of Desperate Housewives that's calling my name. You'll call me soon and let me know how everything turns out?"

"Will do," Kurt promised. "Thanks again."

"No problem."

Kurt hung up the phone and stared at the address clenched between his fingers, wondering why he couldn't just drop this and move on with his life.

The answer didn't come to him until hours later, when his mind was drifting into the dark recesses of sleep.

_Everyone deserves the chance to fly._

The next morning, Kurt woke up before his alarm. He got dressed in a record amount of time, forgoing his normal skincare routines in favor of haste. He grabbed a banana in the kitchen and managed to make it outside by eight without waking up Rachel. He didn't want to see her. He felt slightly bad for his harsh words the night before, but he still wasn't ready to completely forgive her for keeping secrets from him.

Blaine lived only a few blocks away from his apartment, so Kurt decided to walk. He wasn't exactly sure where the keys were, anyway, and he didn't want to risk waking Rachel up and having to face her this early in the day. She might try to stop him, too, and this was something he needed to do.

Maybe he was crazy, but his dreams had been plagued with images of Blaine in a way that it hadn't been since they'd kissed the year before. He would go crazy if this wasn't cleared up immediately. He didn't care what happened at this point—as long as he got the truth, he would be satisfied. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself on the way to Blaine's.

The walk over was far too short to appease Kurt's sudden nerves. As he stood outside the door to apartment 33B, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Who knew if Blaine was even going to be an issue for him? Maybe they wouldn't run into each other again. The odds of Blaine getting the part of Fiyero were small, since he was so green. As long as Kurt stayed away from _Cooper's_, which was no feat at all, he wouldn't have to see Blaine at all. After all, New York was a big city.

Kurt was halfway down the stairs, ready to go back home, when he stopped himself. He _couldn't _turn back now. As surely as he had to breathe, he knew that he had to talk to Blaine. He lifted his fist and knocked on the door, half of him hoping that no one would answer.

That half of him lost when the door was not only opened within twenty seconds, but by none other than Cooper Anderson.

_Shit. _He'd completely forgotten that Cooper and Blaine were brothers, and that they lived together, and _shitcrapdamn _now Cooper Anderson was staring right at him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stood in front of his door in a tight-fitting tank top and boxers.

Kurt blushed, cursing his pale skin for how easily the color showed up. "Hi. I was wondering if I could talk to Blaine?" he asked, his voice in an even higher pitch than usual.

Cooper just stared at him, his eyes narrowed with what looked like suspicion more than blatant hatred. Kurt absentmindedly noted that the Anderson brothers didn't share the same eye color, but did have the same gentle crinkle around their eyes from the way they scrunched their faces up when they laughed.

"I'm— I'm Kurt Hummel," he added tentatively, as Cooper hadn't said anything.

"I know who you are," Cooper murmured, stifling a yawn with his fist as he spoke. "Mostly I'm wondering what you're doing here."

"I need to talk to Blaine," Kurt said, standing up a bit straighter and gazing directly at Cooper.

Cooper hesitated, then shook his head. "He's still sleeping."

"I'll wait, then." And Kurt took a step back and seated himself on the top step of the stairs, folding his legs underneath him gracefully.

Cooper got a strange look on his face— Respect? Bemusement?— and the corner of his lip twitched as if he were trying not to smile. Kurt looked up at him expectantly, but he just rolled his eyes and went back inside without saying anything.

About fifteen minutes later, the door reopened and Blaine was standing framed in the doorway, looking down at Kurt with an unreadable expression.

Kurt scrambled to his feet, dusting invisible particles off the front of his jeans. "Sorry if I woke you," he offered up to the space between them.

Blaine shrugged. "I was getting up soon, anyway." He gestured to his body, and Kurt noticed the shorts and big t-shirt he was wearing. "I usually run in the mornings, so you caught me getting ready for that."

"Cooper said you were sleeping," Kurt said, not bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

"I told him to." Blaine stepped onto the front mat, closing the door behind him. "What brings you here, Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt started at hearing his full name from Blaine's lips. "I'm not exactly sure, Blaine Anderson," he responded eventually.

Blaine tilted his head, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his features as he considered Kurt. "Well, there's no need to stand on occasion. Why don't we take a seat and you can let me know when you figure it out?" He brushed past Kurt—Kurt hoped his shiver at the contact wasn't _too _noticeable—and sat down on the steps, leaving just enough space for Kurt to sit without being on his lap.

"You did really well at your audition yesterday," Kurt told him when they were both settled on the steps. "I'm not allowed to pick favorites… but I hope you get the part."

"You were there?" Blaine turned to Kurt in surprise. "I didn't see you."

"I was in the back," Kurt explained. "I was just about to leave when I heard you talking, so I stayed."

"I was crap," Blaine muttered, settling back on his palms.

"You were nervous," Kurt corrected him. "You did better with Dancing Through Life, though. Really," he added at the doubtful look on Blaine's face. "And you have to believe me, because I'm the professional here."

Blaine smiled, a real smile this time. "What do you do?"

"I'm the Assistant Costume Designer," Kurt said, pride leaking into his voice. "I got the job last year."

"Congratulations!" Blaine turned to face him fully, a grin pulling at his mouth and the corner of his eyes. "I bet you're awesome at that. You always dress so uniquely."

"Don't make me blush," Kurt said, but he grinned, too. He liked this. This was easy. This was just he and Blaine talking, without alcohol or the tension of an unspoken year hanging between them. This was them as they could be, as they should be. As friends.

But all too soon, the ease melted away. They both fell silent, avoiding each other's gazes. It seemed to drag on forever, and finally Kurt couldn't take it any longer.

"Who are you, Blaine?"

Blaine was quiet for a moment, then he gave a jerky shrug of his shoulder. "That's a bit of a loaded question, wouldn't you say?"

Kurt didn't answer.

Blaine sighed. "I've had to describe this a lot over the weekend, and I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of this story. So, will you just let me tell the short version and then ask me any questions you might have afterward?"

Kurt nodded. He thought he knew most of the story, anyway. He just wanted— no, _needed_— to hear it from Blaine's own mouth.

It took only a couple minutes for Blaine to explain. How he had waited for Kurt at _Cooper's_ that night they were supposed to have a date. How he had spent a year assuming that Kurt had stood him up, not realizing that the Kurt he was supposed to date had been Kurt himself, led astray by a good-looking stranger masquerading as Blaine. How Blaine hadn't realized any of this until he happened to run into Rachel on the one night she chose to go back to _Cooper's_.

Kurt had to admit, it was a strange story. But the alternatives— that there were somehow two Blaine Andersons, or Blaine could shape shift, or _something _—were so bizarre that Kurt couldn't do anything _but _accept it as the truth. And Blaine told the tale with such an earnest look in his eyes that Kurt nodded when he finished, having already decided to believe in what he was being told.

"And… that's everything," Blaine finished lamely, catching Kurt's gaze and then quickly looking down at a crack in the ground.

"So…" Kurt began, still trying to wrap his head around everything. "So is that why Cooper was so mad at me when I came into the restaurant looking for you? Because he heard my name and thought I was the one who stood you up?" Kurt paused. "Well, actually, I kind of _did. _I'm sorry."

Blaine let out a breathy laugh. "Apology accepted." He looked up, his face disarmingly close to Kurt's due to their close proximity. "And I'm sorry for disappearing to California without saying anything to you before I left. I know it's no excuse, but I had a lot on my mind."

Kurt nodded, feeling slightly dizzy despite the fact that he was sitting down. Did that mean that Blaine regretted missing out on what could have progressed between them? "So…" he began, right at the moment that Blaine opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, sorry," he backtracked. "Go ahead."

"Are we…?" Blaine trailed off, then shook his head. "Nevermind."

_No! _Kurt wanted to yell. _Are we what?_ _Okay? Friends? Going to try again?_ There were a thousand ways for that sentence to end, and Kurt wanted to know them all. But he recognized that the moment for blatant honesty had passed, so he stood, allowing himself the small luxury of placing a hand on Blaine's firm shoulder to help himself up.

"Are you leaving already?" Blaine asked, standing as well. Was it Kurt's imagination, or did he look disappointed at the prospect?

"I have to go do damage control with my room—with Rachel." He laughed. "I keep forgetting how weird it is that you two kind of know each other."

"Take it easy on her," Blaine said, looking anxious. "I made her promise not to say anything."

Kurt nodded, strangely touched that Blaine cared so much about Rachel's well-being. "I will."

They stayed there, staring at each other, for an awkward beat longer. Kurt felt as if it were the end of a first date, with Blaine's parents waiting on the other side of the door, and with he and Blaine wondering who was going to make the first move for a first kiss. But in the end, Blaine turned away first, with a little wave to Kurt as he went inside.

Their story had never gone in order.


	10. Chapter 10

Blaine wasn't sure why Rachel had suddenly taken such an interest in him, but when she had shown up at _Cooper's _earlier that morning, she had talked at him at one hundred words a minute until he had agreed to whatever she was proposing. Not a second later, she had hooked her arm around his and dragged him outside, only giving him enough time to shout goodbye to a bemused Cooper. Now he was sitting across from her in a quiet Starbucks, trying to keep up with her insane chatter and wondering when and if she would stop her monologue to take a breath.

"—and I talked to my boyfriend, and he thinks we could find out who's been casted for the larger roles as early as next week!" Rachel beamed at Blaine and patted his hand on the table affectionately.

"Your boyfriend?" Blaine asked, chewing around a bite of biscotti. He had found that one of the best strategies for handling Rachel was to repeat the last thing she had said in the form of a question. So far, it had worked perfectly.

"His uncle's the casting director," Rachel informed him proudly, as if it were only through the boyfriend's ingenuity that he had been born related to someone in the business.

"He's his uncle's nephew?" Blaine asked, more than a little distracted. Rachel's phone was sitting on the table, and it had just lit up with a new text from Kurt. He wondered what it said. He could just imagine the way Kurt texted— witty, with dry humor and probably perfect grammar.

He tore his gaze away from the phone, only to see Rachel looking at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. He quickly lifted his cup to his lips to avoid her knowing gaze.

"Blaine," she started, a sigh hiding underneath her words, "if you really want to talk to him—"

"So you haven't gotten a callback or any notice from anyone about _Wicked_?" he asked abruptly, purposefully steering the conversation into a more comfortable territory—or at least, a subject in which he could hold his own without turning into a stammering idiot. Thankfully, Rachel dropped the topic of Kurt in favor of what seemed to be her obsession.

"Not yet," she said, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I mean, it's only been a week, but if I was absolutely _perfect _for the part, they would have said something by now… wouldn't they?"

Blaine swallowed the last bite of his biscotti and placed his hand on hers. "Just give it time. If they don't pick you, you're crazy. I heard some of your audition when I was backstage. You gave me goosebumps." He smiled at her.

"Thanks, Blaine," she said gratefully, giving him a shy smile in return.

"It's the truth," he said simply, returning to his coffee.

"Oh, how did your audition go?" she asked him, scooting forward in her seat in excitement.

Blaine shrugged noncommittally. "I've had better," he admitted. After talking with Rachel for the past hour about all the preparation she had gone through to be perfect for her audition, he was embarrassed about his own lackluster efforts. "It was kind of a last-minute decision."

"I had the impression that you weren't too gung ho about the whole thing when we talked at _Cooper's_," she said, nodding.

"I wasn't, really."

"So what made you come?" she asked him, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

_Kurt_. He couldn't confess that, of course. He had woken up on Tuesday and begun to get ready for a meeting he had at the firm, as planned. It wasn't until he was in Cooper's car with the engine running that he realized he wasn't going to the office. His eyes had landed on the crumpled flyer that he had haphazardly thrown onto the floor of the car, and almost without any effort on his part, he had ended up in front of the theater.

He hadn't known that Kurt would be there at that moment; he hadn't even seen him. But something had been wrong ever since he came back to New York. Ever since he left New York for the first time. It wasn't until he was walking into the theater with sweaty palms and shaky legs that he felt… _right_. It was almost as if his body had recognized the proximity of Kurt and realized that it was the exactly what he needed to relax.

It was too crazy to admit to Rachel—he still wasn't sure he had fully admitted it to himself. So he avoided her question clumsily. "Thanks for letting me know about the auditions, Rachel," he finally said, running his fingers through his hair absentmindedly. "I mean, there's no way I'm getting the part, but I'm glad I auditioned."

"Don't say that!" Rachel said, her eyes widened in shock at his self-deprecation despite the fact that she had spent the last hour telling him the very same thing about herself. "You have to be confident in yourself. That's one of the first things I learned in Glee club, and it's probably the most important lesson I learned in high school."

Blaine quickly looked up. "Glee club?" he asked, trying but failing to keep the interest out of his voice. "Did K— I mean— what was your Glee club like?" He knew Kurt had been in Glee club, but he wanted to know how he had liked it. Whether he had gotten a lot of solos. What his voice sounded like when he sang. Whether he missed it. But he couldn't possibly ask any of that. He couldn't possibly let Rachel know how much he cared. It wasn't his place to care.

"Glee club was amazing. The kids in New Directions were and are my best friends." Rachel smirked at him, wagging her finger in remonstrance. "But I'm assuming you want to know about Kurt?"

Blaine sputtered, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. "Oh… no. No. I wasn't—I mean, I just—

Rachel laughed. "It's okay, Blaine. I know you like him."

"I didn't say that," he told her, frowning.

"You didn't have to," she said simply, handing him an extra napkin to wipe up a bit of coffee that had dribbled onto his cheek. "It's written all over you."

Blaine bit his lip, not sure how to respond to that. He could go blue in the face telling himself to stop thinking about Kurt, but if Rachel could see through his efforts so easily… He would have to try harder.

He stood up, gathering his almost empty cup and the napkin he had used to clean up. "Listen, it was nice having coffee with you, but I should go." There it was—his fight-or-flight response, coming to the rescue in its typical fashion. Blaine wondered if maybe he had been made wrong. Maybe some crucial part of his make-up had been left out. Or maybe the universe had a particular brand of humor that he wasn't in on.

Rachel looked up, surprised. "What, already?" She sighed. "I pushed too much, didn't I? Kurt's always telling me that not everyone wants to hear my opinion all the time…"

_Kurt_. Again. Blaine needed to leave, now. He needed to get away from dangerous subjects—or at least, he needed to get away from the subject of Kurt. "It's not your fault," Blaine lied, picking up his briefcase. "I promised Cooper I would help out at the restaurant today. He's going to kill me for taking off for coffee with you."

Rachel's brow was furrowed, but she thankfully didn't question him any further. "We'll do this again, though, right?" she asked, looking at him anxiously.

Blaine nodded and mustered up a sincere smile. "Definitely. I had a great time talking to you."

Rachel wouldn't let him leave until they had decided to meet again for coffee the following week. He was actually grateful that she was so persistent in being his friend. Whatever her reasons, he was flattered that she seemed to enjoy spending time with him. She was a bit overwhelming at times, but in the end, Rachel was a sweet girl. And as much as he denied the fact to Cooper, he was lonely. He had a feeling that, if he gave it enough time, he and Rachel would end up being friends. After all, Kurt had to like her for a good reason.

_Not that it's any of my business who Kurt likes or doesn't like_, he reminded himself as he drove to _Cooper's_. He focused on the clouds outside, the way they hid behind buildings before emerging bright and pristine on the other side.

Today, he was happy. And that was all that mattered.

Blaine maintained his good mood for the approximately ten minutes it took him to drive to _Cooper's _and park in his brother's spot. Then, with the typically terrible timing that his father seemed to proudly cultivate, his phone started ringing.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a sudden weariness crashing over him. That was all it took. One phone call, one insistent "Dad is calling you" notification flashing across his screen. One second to ruin his day, to remind him that he wasn't free, as much as he tried to deceive himself.

He took a deep breath, then answered the phone.

"Blaine," his father answered before he even had a chance to say hello. His voice was shaking with a tightly controlled fury. Although Blaine couldn't say what the source of his anger was, he could guess who the target would be.

"What can I do for you?" Blaine asked tiredly. A better question would have been, What _have I done wrong?_ or _How much of a disappointment am I this time?_

"That's a good question, Blaine," his father snapped, "because you obviously can't complete one simple task that I set you to!"

Blaine pulled the keys out of the ignition and leaned back in his chair, pressing his head against the seat's headrest. His father didn't require an answer, most of the time. He would use Blaine's silence as an opportunity to throw insults and condemnations at him, to remind him yet again why he would never end up as good as his father, or even half as successful as Cooper.

But the other line was silent, only the sound of his father's breathing leaking through the receiver.

"I'll do better next time," Blaine offered, his words devoid of any emotion but passivity. He wasn't even entirely sure what his father was upset about. He certainly hadn't told him about the _Wicked _auditions. He would be disowned or dead by now if he had.

"I can't expect anything from you," his father spat. Blaine could practically see him, pacing the length of his office, running his hand through his hair in agitation—traits that Blaine had inherited. "How can you skip a meeting when we're in the middle of the final stages of setting up this firm, and then turn around and tell me you'll _do better_?"

_Ah. _That's what this was about. The meeting he had skipped on Tuesday. Blaine wondered which employee had told his father that he hadn't shown up. Maybe Richardson, who had stared at him with barely disguised contempt when he announced he was spearheading the revival of the New York branch. Or it could have been Williams, who had flat-out announced, in Blaine's presence, that he did not support "the gay invasion" and never would. The musings had no venom in them, though; his father demanded loyalty and submission, as Blaine had well learned by now. Anyone who didn't adhere to those standards faced the consequences.

"I'm sorry, sir," Blaine said, reverting to the formal title he used on his father whenever he wanted to appease him. "Missing a meeting when there is so much on the line is inexcusable. It won't happen again."

Usually that was enough to mollify his father's ire, but apparently he had crossed a line this time. "Damn right it won't happen again," his father growled. "If it happens again, you can say goodbye to this trust, Blaine. Do you understand what I've given you? Not just a job, but a _future_. If you want to throw all that away…"

Blaine heard the quiet threat that rested underneath his words. If he wanted to throw that away, then he was also throwing away his family. While he couldn't give a damn about his father, his mother was another story. "I understand, sir."

"What exactly was so important that you left a roomful of my colleagues waiting?"

"I was…" He hesitated, his mind reeling. What could he say? Not the truth, obviously. His father's anger at him missing a meeting was nothing compared to how livid he would be if he knew that Blaine was still singing—and even worse, was actively pursuing musical theater. He had to lie. "I was sick."

"Sick?" His dad would have stopped his pacing by now, his eyes narrowing as he tried to sniff out Blaine's lie. "With what?"

"The stomach flu," Blaine said immediately, the lie coming easily to his lips. Cooper had had it two weeks before. "I caught it from Cooper."

"And you've recovered already?" His father asked coolly. "How _remarkable_."

"I have a great immune system," Blaine answered. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but there was no way his father could prove that he was lying. He would tell Cooper to cover for him on the off chance that his dad called to verify his story.

"Well, we can't afford for you to be sick any longer. Make sure you and your brother keep yourselves healthy," his father ordered.

Blaine bit back an angry retort. It figured that his own father didn't even care about his health unless it was a deterrent to his precious business. "Yes, sir."

He waited for a response, but a second later, the dial tone sounded. He had been hung up on. Of course. He had served his purpose for tonight.

Blaine shoved his phone into his pocket and let out a frustrated groan. He _hated _not being able to talk back to his dad when he was being so unfair. He hated that he still felt obligated to bow down to his every wish. He hated how one word from his father turned him into a little kid again, powerless to do anything but nod and say "yes, sir."

He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. He heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky, but this time, the freely moving clouds were a mockery rather than a comfort.

When he stormed into _Cooper's_ kitchen a minute later, his brother took one look at him before stopping him in his tracks and turning him around to face the door again.

"Go have some fun," Cooper ordered, seizing the apron from under Blaine's arm. "You look like you did when you were eight and I hid your favorite toy."

"I don't want to have fun," Blaine muttered, trying to snatch the apron back. But Cooper held it up above his head, and Blaine hadn't yet lost his dignity enough to try jumping for it.

Cooper tossed the apron on the counter behind him, then grabbed a metal tin that was lying next to it. He held it up in front of Blaine's face.

"You see that?" Cooper asked, pointing to the tin, where the grainy reflection of a surly, scowling man with half-gelled, half-wild hair was staring back at him. "That is not the face I need customers to be greeted with. You'll make them lose their appetite."

"Gee, thanks, Coop," Blaine said sarcastically.

"I'm running a business here, Blainers. But I'm also your older brother. And I am advising you to go occupy yourself until we close tonight." He tossed the tin back on the counter. "And _not _by yourself," he added as an afterthought.

Blaine grimaced. "And what if I don't _want _to occupy myself?"

Cooper grinned. "Then—and I'm speaking as your landlord of sorts now—you can expect to be locked out of the apartment until tomorrow."

"You wouldn't," Blaine said, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

"Maybe not." Cooper raised an eyebrow. "But are you willing to risk it?" He paused, waiting for an answer, then smiled smugly when he received none. "I didn't think so."

Blaine sighed as Cooper started pushing him out of the kitchen doors and into the dining room, but didn't protest any further. He knew that Cooper was stubborn and probably _would _lock Blaine out of the apartment for the night. So, he allowed himself to be thrown out of _Cooper's_, but it wasn't until he was back in the car, the engine rumbling impatiently, that he realized he had no one to spend the day with.

He mentally ran through the list of people he knew in the city. Cooper was obviously working, as was Santana, so both of them were out. He had just finished having coffee with Rachel, and while she would probably be delighted to spend another couple hours discussing _Wicked _and Glee club, he would feel desperate if he called her right after telling her he had to leave to help at the restaurant. And there was no way he was going out with any of the guys from the firm. The last thing he needed was to give his father's spies more evidence of his shortcomings.

_Well, that's pathetic_. _Twenty-four years old and alone in New York City. _He literally couldn't find even one person to spend a couple hours with. What had he been doing for his entire life that had left him with an inability to retain some best friends?

He pulled out his phone and began mindlessly scrolling through his contacts list. There had to be _someone _he knew who lived nearby and with whom it wouldn't be awkward to connect with.

_Adam from the Warblers, no, I barely knew him… David's out, he lives in Connecticut now… Garrett from college? No, he was kind of a pretentious prick, now that I think about it… Hiram… Ingrid… no, no…Kurt…_

His finger paused, hovering over the little black name on his screen. Kurt Hummel.

He could.

But he shouldn't.

Why not?

Nothing was stopping him from just calling Kurt and asking him if he wanted to hang out. It wouldn't have to be a date. It could just be two people—two sort-of friends—spending a day together. There was no harm in that, right?

After another minute of fighting with himself, he pressed the _Call _icon next to Kurt's name.

* * *

><p>"What did you two talk about?"<p>

"Kurt, I already told you—"

"Look, I'm just _curious_," Kurt insisted.

Rachel had come back from her unannounced coffee date as smug as a kitten. All morning, she had been taunting him with vague hints about Blaine, dangling details over his head with a grin that bordered on psychotic. He was going to go crazy if she didn't tell him something of value. It was taking all of his self-control to hide from Rachel the fact that his interest went beyond professional motives. He had a definite _thing _for Blaine Anderson.

"What do you want me to tell you?" Rachel asked, calmly sipping what he could only assume was fermented fragments of his soul. She looked at him owlishly, her mouth still spread into that crazy grin.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to convince himself to breathe before he could reach over the kitchen table and throttle Rachel. "Did he say anything I would be interested in?" he asked, careful not to flat-out ask what he _really _wanted to know— if Blaine had mentioned him.

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel said, shaking her head at him like he was the silliest thing she had seen all day, "you know I can't tell you that."

"And why not?" Kurt stared down at her imperiously.

"Because that would betray the trust that Blaine and I have!" Rachel said, her voice somehow more shrill than usual.

"You do realize that _I _am your best friend?" he asked slowly.

"_Yes_," she said, exasperated. "But how would you like it if I told Blaine how you feel about him?"

"How I—Rachel—I don't—" Kurt sputtered, feeling his ears warming up. "_I don't even know him."_

Rachel took another sip from her mug, smiling at him. "Then why do you care?"

"Okay, just—just stop with thet _look_," Kurt hissed. "We kissed once. _Once_. It didn't even mean anything because we were both drunk. Then he disappeared for a year and we've only spoken twice since he's been back. I don't _feel _anything for him other than a casual interest, and I'm sure he feels the same way about me."

Rachel smirked. "You keep telling yourself that, Kurt."

"Rachel—"

The muffled sound of a ringtone interrupted his words. He stalked out of the kitchen, shooting one last glare at Rachel, and followed the noise to the couch. He fished his phone out from between the couch cushions, where it must have fallen the last time he had sat there, then glanced at the screen. An unfamiliar number with a New York area code was calling him. Probably one of the _Wicked _crew, looking for Susan's number. He was supposed to be off today, but most of the crew didn't seem to respect human necessities like _rest _and _relaxation_.

"Hi, you've reached Kurt Hummel," Kurt droned on autopilot. "If you're looking for Susan—"

"No, this is—this is Blaine. How are you?"

Kurt froze, his mouth open mid-sentence. "Blaine," he repeated dumbly.

"Yes?" Blaine asked, sounding as if he weren't sure he had called the right number.

"_Blaine_," Kurt said, feeling more than a little awed. Blaine had seemed so reluctant to talk to Kurt the last time they'd spoken, and he hadn't seemed eager to plan any further conversations with Kurt in the future. He seemed to have no problem with Rachel, but when it came to Kurt, he was distant. So to have Blaine calling him right now, sounding so friendly, was messing with Kurt's version of reality.

"Hi," Blaine said, and there was definitely a hint of laughter in the word.

Kurt found his words at last. "Blaine, yes, hi," he said, scrambling to recover from his initial faux pas. "Why are you calling?" Kurt winced as soon as he asked the question. _Way to be polite._

Rachel peeked her head around the corner, a mouthful of vegan banana bread bulging between her cheeks. She pointed to the phone, a quizzical look on her face.

Kurt flapped his free arm at her, mouthing _Go away_.

Rachel, as he should have expected, approached his side, crowding next to his ear to listen to the receiver.

He shifted away from her just in time to hear Blaine talking.

"I had coffee with Rachel earlier," Blaine offered.

Kurt nodded, not sure what Blaine was trying to say, then realized that he couldn't be seen. "So I hear," he answered drily, glancing at Rachel, who was trying to sneak around him to place her ear near the receiver again.

"We, um, we had a lot of fun," Blaine continued.

Kurt rolled his eyes. He _really _didn't need someone else telling him what good friends Blaine and Rachel were becoming—especially if that person was Blaine. "I see…"

"And then I was supposed to go to work—at _Cooper's, _I mean—not that I _work _there, per se, but I help my brother out…" Blaine trailed off, giving a little cough that Kurt couldn't help but think was slightly adorable.

"Uh-huh," Kurt prompted. Obviously Blaine wasn't calling just to tell him about his day…. Or was he? He couldn't seem to make sense of the guy.

"Basically-Cooper-told-me-to-distract-myself-and-I-was-thinking-I-don't–know-maybe-you-wanted-to-do-something," Blaine said in a rush.

There was a quiet pause while Kurt tried to process and comprehend what Blaine meant.

"Do something?"

"Do something. With me," Blaine clarified. "Today."

Kurt licked his lips nervously and glanced at Rachel, who had obviously heard everything, judging by the gleeful look on her face. She nodded at him in encouragement, gesturing at the phone, but he could only lower it from his face and stare at it, dumbfounded.

"Say yes," she whispered, probably just loud enough for Blaine to hear.

He nodded mutely, then shook his head. Blaine was asking him out. _Blaine _was asking him out. Blaine was asking _him_ out. How could he compute this? It was impossible.

Rachel groaned impatiently, then snatched the cell phone from the limp grasp he had on it. "Blaine?" she asked. She paused, listening. "Yes, it's Rachel. Kurt can't talk right now, but he says he'd love to." She glanced at Kurt for confirmation, but he could only nod at her again. "Okay… yeah… perfect. Bye, Blaine!"

Kurt held his hand out for the phone, which Rachel gently pressed into his palm.

"Did Blaine just ask me out?" he was finally able to ask. "Or was I dreaming?"

Rachel pinched his arm without warning.

"_Ouch_!"

"Nope, not dreaming." Rachel giggled. "The _man_ of your dreams, maybe…"

They grinned at each other, then hooked arms and headed to Kurt's room.

They had two hours to make a game plan.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks, as usual, for reading. And thanks especially to those who take the time to also review. Every review makes me flail and go all kickyfeet at my desk. 3

The next chapter might be a bit of a wait, because I'm working on my KBI Reversebang fic right now, but I'll try to get it out as soon as possible. (:


End file.
